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EAST LYNNE 



A Drama in Five Acts 

ADAPTED FROM THE FAMOUS NOVEL OF THAT NAME 

BY 

MRS. HENRY WOOD 

SPECIALLY PREPARED EDITION, WITH CAST OF CHARACTERS, SY*. 

OPSIS OF INCIDENTS, TlME OF REPRESENTATION, DESCRIPTION 

OF THE COSTUMES, SCENE AND PROPERTY PLOTS, DIAGRAMS 

OF SCENES, SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, RELATIVE 

POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS, EXPLANATION OF 

the Stage Directions and all of the 
Stage Business 



u 



'se 



COPYRIGHT 1894 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 



i 



Philadelphia 
The Perm Publishing Company 

1894 -* 



*"* 









EAST LYNNE 

CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Sir Francis Levison, a fashionable roue, 

Gentlemanly Villain. 
Archibald Carlyle, .... Leading Man. 

Lord Mount Severn, .... First Old A/an* 

Justice Hare, . . . . . Second Old Man. 

Mr. Dill, . . . . . Second Low Comedy. 

Officer, ........ Utility Man. \ 

Little Willie, .... A Small Child's Part.i 

Lady Isabel, j dual ^ ^ ^ ^ Leading Lady?!: 

Madam Vine, ) \ 

Barbara Hare Juve?iile Lady. 

Miss Carlyle, . . . Eccentric Character Part. 

Joyce, r Uility. 

Wilson, . Same. 

Susanne, Same. 

Time of representation, two hours and a half. Time, 
the present. ; > 

Locality — All the Acts except Scene 2 in Act III occur at 
East Lynne in rural England. Scene 2 in Act III occurs in 
London. 



SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS 

Sir Francis Levison, a blase man of fashion, commits a 
murder, for which an innocent man, Richard Hare, is sus- 
pected and arrested. Richard retains as counsel Archibald 
Carlyle, a rising young lawyer. Mr. Carlyle has just married 
Lady Isabel, the daughter of an Earl, who is in impoverished 
circumstances. After the marriage Lady Isabel's jealousy 
is wrought upon by the clandestine interviews between 
Barbara Hare, Richard's sister, and her husband, Archibald 
Carlyle. The interviews are merely concerning the de- 
fense of Richard in the murder trial ; but Lady Isabel in 
ignorance of this, misconstrues their purpose, and being 
goaded on by her lover, Sir Francis Levison, consents to 
an elopement with the latter. o -, 

A few years pass, and Archibald Carlyle haj secured ^ 
divorce from his wife and marries Barbara Hare. In the 

' meantime Lady Isabel, being badly treated by Sir Francis, 
leaves him (he having neglected to keep his promise and 

• "make her his wife). She learns of the serious illness of her 

j 'little son, who is at the home of his father, Archibald Car- 
lyle, and the latter's new wife, and determines to apply for 
the position of nurse for the little one that has been adver- 
tised for, so she can be by the bedside of her boy in his last 
hours. Disguising herself as " Madam Vine," she secures 

. the position, but overcome by the death-bed scene of her 
boy, she throws off her disguise and reveals herself to him 
as his mother. She is discovered by Joyce, a former lady- 
maid of hers, but Joyce consents to keep her secret. It- 
leaks out, however. Miss Corney, the quaint spinster sister 
of Archibald Carlyle, gets to know it, and through the 
t- instrumentality of the latter, who, although odd and eccen- 
tric, has an excellent heart, a reconciliation is brought 

[7 about at the death-bed of Lady Isabel. The plot also 
I shows how Sir Francis Levison meets his deserts by being 

1 brought to justice as the real murderer, thus securing the 
\ acquittal of Richard Hare. The part of Lady Isabel abounds 
. in strong dramatic passages and thrilling scenes, and the 

Mate Lucille Western, one of the very best actresses 
America ever produced, made it the strongest part in her 
. repertoire. Sir Francis Levison and Archibald Carlyle 
are also strong parts, while Miss Corney Carlyle, in the 
; hands of a capable actress, will keep an audience convulsed 
f with laughter at her eccentricities. 
\ iii 






/S^Ss* 



COSTUMES 

Sir Francis Levison. Age, thirty. Act II. — Full even- 
ing dress ; eye-glasses ; aristocratic make-up. Act III. — 
Fashionable dress ; silk hat ; light overcoat ; gloves ; walk- 
ing cane. Act V. — Same attire as Act III. 

Archibald Carlyle. Age, twenty-five.' Fashionable 
black suit. 

Lord Mount Severn. Age, sixty. Gray wig ; white 
whiskers and mustache. Dignified-looking old gentleman. 
Traveling suit. 

Justice Hare. Plain, respectable suit, such as would be 
worn by a country justice of the peace. 

acHARD Hare. Age, twenty-five. First dress, plow- 
man suit, smock frock, corduroy pants ; heavy black whis- 
kers. Second dress, business suit ; smooth face. 

Mr. Dill. Age, sixty. Gray wig ; smooth face ; plaii 
suit ; old-fashioned stock collar and white neckerchief. 

Officer. English policeman's suit. 

Lady Isabel. Age, twenty. Act I. — Rich traveling dress 
and hat. Act II. — Ball-room dress. Act III. —White dress- 
ing gown. 

Madam Vine. Age, forty. Plain black dress, white cap 
and apron ;" gray wig ; blue spectacles. 

Barbara Hare. Age, twenty. First dress — Light sum- 
mer dress. Second dress — Black hat and black dress. Third 
dress — Light house dress. 

Corney Carlyle. Age, sixty. First dress — Eccentrij 
loose dress ; blonde wig with grotesque corkscrew curls 
Second dress — Night-robe, very short, with red petticoc 
tied around her head. Third dress — Drab out-door dress 
with big old-fashioned bonnet, trimmed with flowers ; bij 
red shawl. 

Joyce. Housemaid's dress, cap, and apron. 



PROPERTY PLOT 

Act I 

Scene i. — Sheets of music on piano ; stands of flowers 

for conservatory. Scene 2. — Cart whip for Richard Hare. 

iv 




EAST LYNNE V 

Act II 

Scene 3. — Call-bell on table ; letter on table for Joyce to 
find. 

Act III 

Scene i. — Letter for Archibald. 



Act IV 

Scene i. — Embroidery work and knitting-needles for 
Madame Vine, which she uses during her conversation with 
Barbara. Letter for Joyce to give to Barbara. Scene 2. — 
Warrant for Levison's arrest and handcuffs for Officer. 



SCENE PLOT 



" 



Act I 



1 

ijgScENE i. — Parlor in Archibald Carlyle's house at East 
•nne. It is a box scene in 3 g., backed by conservatory 
nl 4 g. Open double doors c, leading to conservatory. 
Practical doors r. and l., second entrance. Piano and stool 
^fp l. c. Tete-a-tete down c. Chairs r. and l., arranged 
according to diagram. Medallion carpet. The draperies 
and surroundings must suggest a well-furnished Tiome of 
an English gentleman. Lights up. Time, afternoon. 



4-G. 



4G. 



VIEW 0? CONSERVATORY. 




DIAGRAM OF SCENE I, ACT I 



VI 



EAST LYNNE 



Scene 2. — Landscape view in 1 g. 
Scene 3. — Same as Scene 1, Act I. 

Act II 

Scene i. — Same as Scene i, Act I. 
Scene. 2. — Landscape view in 1 g. 
Scene 3. — Same as Scene 1, Act I. 

Act III 

Scene i. — Chamber scene in 1 g. Practical doors r. and 
L., first entrance. 
^^— jfENE 2. — Lady Isabel's apartments in London. Cham- 
ber in 3 g. (boxed) backed by hallway in 4 g. Double door- 
way c. hung with curtains. Fireplace R. 2 E. with large 
-isas chair in front of it. Cradle L. of c. with chair R. of it. 
5ofa down 1^. h. Chairs arranged about the room accord- 
ing to diagram. Medallion carpet down. Table and two 
chairs c, with lamp on table. Time, night. Lights in har- 
mony with the scene. 






*G. 



4C, 



HALLWAY 




DIAGRAM OF SCENE 2, ACT III 

Act IV 

Scene i. — Same as Scene 2, Act I. 

Scene 2. — Landscape in 1 g. 

Scene 3. — Chamber in 3 g. backed by landscape in 4 G. r 
seen through open window c. Curtains at window. Couch 
L. of C. Large easy-chair beside couch, chair foot of couch ; 



EAST LYNNE 



Vll 



small table holding bottles of medicines, lamp (not lighted), 
etc. Fireplace r. 2 e. Practical door r. i e. Practical door 
L. 2 e. Chairs arranged about room. Carpet down. Time, 
afternoon. Lights up. 

LANDSCAPE. BACKING IN 4-G. 



O CHAIR 




OPEN WINDOW 
WITH CURTAINS 



1 \ \ C 




TABIC O 
WITH MEDICINE BOTTLES ECT. 



DIAGRAM OF SCENE 3, ACT IV 

Act V 

Scene i. — -Landscape in i g. 

Scene 2. — Chamber in 2 g. 

Scene 3. — Same as Scene 3, Act IV. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The player is supposed to face the audience. R. means 
right; L., left; c, centre; r. c, right of centre; L. c, left of 
centre ; d. f., door in the flat or scene running across the 
back of the stage ; r. f., right side of the flat ; l. f., left side 
of the flat ; r. d., right door ; l. d., left door ; '1 e., first en- 
trance ; 2 E., second entrance; u. E., upper entrance; 1, 2, 
or 3 g., first, second, or third grooves ; up stage, toward the 
back ; down stage, toward the footlights. 

R. R. C. C. L. C L. 

Note. — The text of this play is correctly reprinted from 
the original authorized acting edition, without change. Tlje 
introductory matter has been carefully prepared by an ex- 
pert, and is the only part of this book protected by copy- 
right. 



I 







EAST LYNNE 



ACT I 

SCENE I. — enrrChamber in 4. Table and 2 chairs, R. h. 
Set door, r. h. 2 e. 

Enter, c. d., Miss Cornelia and Dill. 

Dill. -4pH*$* And so, Miss Corney, Mr. Carlyle will be 
here to-day, and bring home his bride. 

Miss C. (r. h.) His bride, indeed ! A pretty bride for him 
to take, an Earl's daughter ! And I've no doubt she'll prove 
as idle and extravagant as her worthless father. She'll waste 
his means and bring him to beggary. " 

Dill. I trust not, Miss Corney. But do you know I had 
a notion when Mr. Carlyle left home he went to be married. 

Miss C. You did, eh ? And Archibald never to tell me ! 
I who have been like a mother to him ! But I always thought 
he loved that girl a great deal better than he should ; for 
when he first took possession of East Lynne, she left some 
gold-fish in his care, and when they died he made such a 
fuss about them— oh ! I was so disgusted with such silly 
nonsense ! However, I am glad that silly Barbara Hare 
1 Bn't got him — after all the years she's been fishing for 
him. A woman has no business to be always running after 
a man— it aint decent. But I've made up my mind to make 
East Lynne my home for the future. There's no use of 
keeping up the expense of two establishments. Besides, 
here I can watch over his interests, for I know she'll bring 
him to beggary. 

Dill. Well, I must go now, and prepare myself to meet 
Mr. Carlyle and his lovely £>ride. 

Exit c. d. 
Miss C. Lovely indeed ! Beauty is but skin deep. Here, 

Joyce — Joyce ! 

Enter Joyce, r . i e . — 

Joyce, is everything prepared in Mr. Carlyle's apartment? 
Joyce. Yes, ma'am, we've made everything look as tidy 
and as cheerful as possible. 

5 



EAST LYNNE 




Miss C. Cheerful indeed ! and for her ? Well, s 
get along about your business, for I expect them here every 
minute now. I'm sure I'd as soon see Archibald hano- e d as 
married. {Enter Dill, c. d. r.) What an old fool ! Why 
what on earth has taken you ? Why, you are decked out 
like a young buck ! 

Dill. I hope I'm not too fine, Miss Corney ? 

Miss C. Fine ? I don't know what you call it but I 
wouldn't make such a spectacle of myself for untold gold 
Why, all the boys in the street will be taking you for the 
bridegroom. 

Dill. Well, now, really, Miss Corney, I thought this 
coat quite plain. 

Miss C. Plain! and what would you have it, I should 
like to know? Perhaps you'd like a wreath of embroidery 
around it— gold leaves and scarlet flowers, and a swan's 
down collar. Pray, do you know your age ? 

Dill. I do ; and I'm just turned sixty. 

Miss C. You just one ! And do you consider it decent 
for an old man of sixty to be decked out as you are now ? 
Take care the boys don't tie a tin kettle to your coat-tails. 
^ Dill. Well, now, Miss Corney, pray don't get excited 
aoout the matter. I'll go and change it to please you. Hush ! 
I hear the carriage wheels now. {Goes up c. and looks 'offi* ) 
And here come Mr. Carlyle and his bride. 

Miss C. Well, I know one thing certain, I never will for- 
give him or tolerate her. 

Gets in r. h. corner. Enter, c. l., Archibald Carlyle and 
Isabel. Archibald comes down c. to front. 

Arch, (c.) Welcome to East Lynne— to your childhood's 
home, Isabel ! ( To Dill, who is on his r.) Ah ! Dill, my old 
mend, I hope you are well. {Shakes hands with him and 
crosses to Miss Corney.) Ah ! Cornelia, my dear sister, 
this is kind in you to meet me here. {Shakes ha?ids with 
her and returns to c.) This is my wife— the Lady Isabel. 
Isabel, this is my sister Cornelia. (Isabel bows) 

Miss C. {snappishly) 1 hope you are well, madam. 

Arch. This is my old friend and confidential clerk, Mr. 
John Dill. 

Isabel. I hope I see you well, sir. 

Miss C. Would you like to go up-stairs and take off your 
things, before supper ? 

Isabel. I will go to my room, if you please, but Archi- 
bald and I have dined. I don't require anything, thank 
you. 




EAST LYNNE 



Hi Isabel, I have ^J^^^tT' 
"tSSt SlTesftobe'sureTX I will remain here 
an ARCH. t0 D y o U s r o!ihe e n, if you like. I'll not be long absent. 
Come, Dill. ExituM VB^c». 

* Mils C Tea ! so late as this ? You'd never sleep a wink 
aU IsS. Oh! well ^^^ffl^o- 1 ^ 

feel certain I shall like you d t East Lyn ne. 

S£ Co^entld! ^0^1 shah. The dear 

here that poor papa died too. Ana _™ e j 

and bought the place, and he ««^ "^ t0 love him ! 

CS nr^Cand.plrsuad hi m t • t d ,o 

S^^SKSSfiS S? Don't you think 
he will let me ? - ■ , , 

-Zi C C° R iP^s7ei "irShe'l really a most extraord 

Isabel Why, she acts very strangely. I hope I haven* 
done anything "wrong (Re-enter Archtbald^ c. oO O 
Archibald! I'm so glad you've cornel lam ^»| 

fore. 



EAST LYNNE 



' m 



Arch. My sister is not over-pleasant in her manner, but 
she is a very upright and just person. You'll like her better 
when you come to know her. Now, Isabel, if you like, I'll 
walk with you through the grounds. 

Exeunt, l. i e. 

Scene II. — Landscape m i. 

Enter Richard Hare, l. i e., disguised in a ploughman's 
suit, with heavy black whiskers, carrying a large whip in 
one hand. 



Rich. Here I am at length, after jify absence of nearly 
two years, once more in sight of my dear old home. But, 
alas ! I dare not enter even for a moment. I am a fugitive 
from justice, and even now the lynx-eyed officers of the law 
may be on my track, and discover me in spite of my dis- 
guise. Would I could see my dear mother, if only for a 
moment! {Goes to r. h.) Ah ! the garden gate is open, and 
I see my sister Barbara standing in the door. I'll venture 
to speak and call her out. Hist, Barbara! Barbara, come 
out ! Don't you know me ?— it is I — Richard ! 

Enter Barbara, r. i e. 

Barb. O Richard ! my dear brother — is it indeed y 
What brings you here ? How could you run such a ri 
If you are discovered, it is certain death upon — you krtcM 

Richard. Upon the gibbet — I do know, Barbara. 

Barb. Then why risk it by coming here ? Should mamma 
see you, it would kill her outright. 

Rich. I can't live as I am living. I have been working 
in London ever since. 

Barb. In London, Richard ? How are you working — 
what at ? 

Rich. In a stable-yard. 

Barb. In a stable-yard ! O Richard ! you — 

Rich. Did you expect it would be as a merchant or a 
banker ? or that I was a gentleman living at large on my 
fortune ? I get twelve shillings a week, Barbara, and that 
has to find me in everything. 

Barb. O Richard ! my poor brother ! 

Rich. I could do no better. I was brought up to no kind 
of labor, and I did understand about horses. Besides, a man 
that the police-runners were after would be more safe in 
such obscurity than if he were a gentleman in fine clothes. 

Barb. Poor Richard ! what a miserable night that was 




i 




EAST LYNNE 9 

u, and for all of us ! Our only comfort is, Richard, that 
you must have committed the deed in madness. 

Rich. I did not commit the deed at all, Barbara. I swear 
to you that I am innocent of the crime. I was not even in 
the cottage at the time of the murder. The man who really 
did the deed was Thorn. 

Barb. Thorn ! Who was Thorn ? 

Rich. I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could 
unearth him. He was a friend of Afy's. 

Barb. Richard, you forget yourself when you mention 
her name in my presence. 

Rich. Well, it was not to discuss such topics as these 
that I have put my life in jeopardy by coming here to-night ; 
and to assert my innocence can do no good. It cannot set 
aside the coroner's verdict of willful murder against 
Ricnard Hare the younger. If I had not fled like a coward, 
I might have stood some chance ; but that flight, you know, 
looked like guilt. Is my father as bitter as ever against me ? 

Barb. Quite ; he never mentions your name, or even 
suffers it to be spoken by the servants in his presence. 
After the delivery of the verdict, he took an oath in the 
justice's room, in the presence of his brother magistrates, 
th at if h e could find you, though it might not be for ten 
.■Would deliver you up to justice. You know his 
i > ipn ; therefore you may be sure he will keep his 
word. 

■K I know he never treated me as he ought. Had 

. home been made happier for me, I should not have 
sought the society I did elsewhere. Barbara, I must be 
allowed an interview with my mother. 

Barb. It is impossible to think of that to-night. Papa 
has only gone of an errand, and may return at any moment. 
I don't see how it can be managed. 

Rich. Why can she not come out to me as you have 
done ? 

Barb. Because she is ill, and has retired for the night. 
This separation from you has nearly killed her. 

Rich. It is hard, after so long an absence, to go back 
without seeing her. What I want, Barbara, is a hundred 
pounds ; and I think she can let me have it. If I can get 
that sum, I have an opportunity for doing better for myself 
than I have done. That was what I came to ask for. Do 
you think she can let me have it ? 
I Barb. You must be here to-morrow night again. The 
iyiioney can no doubt be yours. But if, as you say, you are 

nocfcqt, why not try and prove it? 




IO EAST LYNNE 

Rich. Who is to prove it ? The evidence was stro 
against me ; besides, no one at West Lynne knew anything 
about Thorn but myself. He only came over on certain 
nights to see Afy, and he took precious good care to keep 
out of the way in the daytime. 

Barb. Richard, why not tell the whole truth to Archi- * 
bald Carlyle ? If any one can help you, or take measures 
to establish your innocence, he can ; and you know he is 
true as steel. 

Rich. Well, perhaps you are right. He is the only per- 
son who ought to be entrusted with the secret of my being 
here. Where is it generally supposed that I am ? 

Barb. Some think that you are dead ; others that you 
are in America or Australia. This very uncertainty has 
nearly killed mamma. But come again to-morrow night, 
at this same hour, and, meanwile, I'll see what can be done 
about the money. 

Justice Hare, {outside, r. h.) Barbara! Barbara! 

Barb. Hark ! there's papa returned. I dare not remain 
another instant. You must go now, Richard. Good-night. 

Rich, {going l.) Barbara, you did not seem to believe 
my assertion of innocence ; but we are standing here alone 
in the still night, with Him above us, and as truly as that I 
must one day meet Him face to face, I have told you the 
truth. It was not I who committed the murder. I swear it 
— there — {points to heaven). Good-night, sister. 

Exit hastily, l. i e. -*■ -* 

i 
Enter Justice Hare, r. i e. 

Justice H. {speaking \s enteri?ig) Barbara ! Barbara ! I 
say — Hello ! young lady, what brings you here this time of 
night ? \ 

Barb. I went down to the gate to meet you, and had 
strolled over the side path, and so I suppose that was how 
I missed you. 

Justice H. Come into the house then. You ought to 
have been in bed an hour ago. 

Both exit, r. i e. 

Scene III. — Same as Scene I. 

Enter Joyce, l. h., meeting Wilson, from r. h. 

Wilson. O Joyce ! did you see who is come ? A whole 
carriage-load of visitors, and she among them. I watched 
her get out. 



l 



EAST LYNNE II 

Enter Isabel, c. l., and listens. 

Joyce. Watched her? Who? 

Wilson. Why, Miss Barbara Hare, to be sure. Only 
fancy her coming to pay a wedding visit here ! My lady 
had better take care she don't get a bowl of poison mixed 
for her. Master's out, or else I'd have given a shilling to 
have seen the interview between them. 

Joyce. Wilson, you had better take care what you say 
here. Go and attend to the company. 

Exit Wilson, r. i e. 

Isabel, {advancing r.) Joyce, what was that I overheard 
you and Wilson gossiping -about just now ? — about Miss 
Hare giving me a bowl of poison ? Something in the dra- 
matic line, I should fancy. Please tell her to keep her 
whispers to herself in future. 

Joyce, (l.) It was merely a bit of nonsense, my lady. 
These stupid, ignorant servants will talk ; and every one in 
West Lynne knew that Miss Barbara was in love with Mr. 
Carlyle ; but I do not think she was the one to make him 
happy with all her love. 

Isabel. Joyce, how would you like the situation of 
lady's maid ? that is, if Miss Carlyle will consent to the 
transfer. 

Joyce. O my lady ! you are very kind. I should so like 
it, and I would serve you faithfully to the best of my 
ability. 

Isabel. Well, then, if Miss Carlyle consents, you shall 
have it. I'll speak to her about it to-day. Now leave me, 
Joyce. {Exit Joyce, l. i e.) Who is this Barbara Hare of 
whom I hear so much, and whom East and West Lynne 
are busy associating with the name of my husband ? Oh ! I 
remember now : I noticed her at the church door the first 
day we came to East Lynne ; and Mr. Carlyle said, as he 
pointed her out, " That is Miss Barbara Hare. Don't you 
think her a very pretty girl ?" Perhaps he has loved her ; 
perhaps he loves her still, and only married me out of sym- 
pathy. Oh ! if I only thought that, it would drive me fran- 
tic ! But no — no — no ! I will not harbor a thought so foolish 
as that. Mr. Carlyle is an honorable man ; 'he loves me 
truly — he has told me so, and he would not deceive me. 

Enter Miss Corney, r. i e. 

Miss C. Lady Isabel, they are waiting for the order for 
nner. 




12 EAST LYNNE 

Isabel. Order a dinner, Miss Corney ? {Aside) What 
shall I say ? I never ordered a dinner in all my life. I must 
say something. She's evidently waiting for an answer. 
Well, then, Miss Corney, you may tell them we'll have 
something to roast and something to boil. 

Miss C. Something to roast and something to boil ! Are 
you aware that such an order would puzzle the butcher to 
know whether you desired a few pounds of meat or a whole 
cow? 

Isabel. A whole cow ! Oh ! bless me, Miss Corney, we 
never could eat a whole cow. (Aside) I've evidently made 
a mistake this time. I'll try again. What shall I say? I 
wish I dared to ask her ; but she looks so cross and severe, 
and she would despise me for my ignorance. I'll venture 
again. Well, then, Miss Corney, order as much meat as 
you think Archibald and yourself will require. I don't want 
any. 

Miss C. Lady Isabel, if you desire it, I will give the 
necessary orders myself. 

Isabel. Oh I do, if you please, Miss Corney. I wanted 
to ask you to do it all the while, but I didn't want to trouble 
you. I don't think I know much about housekeeping. 

Miss C. I don't think you do. Poor Archibald ! so much 
for marrying against my will. 

Exit R. I E. 

Isabel. I wish Archibald would come. The time hangs 
heavily when he is from my side. 

Enter Lord Mount Severn, c. d. l., advances l. h., and 

bows stiffly. 

Lord M. What is the meaning of this, Isabel ? You are 
married, it seems. 

Isabel. Yes ; some days ago. 

Lord M. And to Mr. Carlyle, the lawyer. How did this 
come about ? And why was I kept in ignorance of the affair ? 

Isabel. I did not know you were kept in ignorance of it. 
Mr. Carlyle wrote to you at the time, as also did Lady Mount 
Severn. 

Lord M. I suppose this comes of your father having 
allowed him to visit daily at East Lynne, and so you fell in 
love with him. 

Isabel. Oh ! no, indeed ! I never thought of such a thing j 
as falling in love with Mr. Carlyle ; but he came to Castle 
Marling at Easter ; he proposed to me, and I accepted him. 
I like him very well, he is so good to me. 



EAST LYNNE 13 

Lord M. How comes it you are so nice in your dis- 
tinctions between liking and loving ? It cannot be that you 
love any one else. Who has been staying at Castle Marling 
during my absence ? 

Isabel, {confused) Only Francis Levison. 

Lord M. Francis Levison ! You surely have not been 
foolish enough to fall in love with him ! Isabel, Francis 
Levison is not a good man. If ever you were inclined to 
think him one, dispossess your mind of that idea, drop his 
acquaintance, encourage no intimacy. 

Isabel. I have dropped it already, sir. But, Lady Mount 
Severn must think well of him, or she would not have him 
there so often. 

Lord M. {surprised) She thinks none too well of him. 
None can of Francis Levison. 

Enter Archibald, l. i e. Offers his hand to Lord Mount 
Severn, who refuses it. 

Lord M. Isabel, I am sorry to turn you out of the room, 
but I must say a few words to Mr. Carlyle. 
Isabel. Oh ! certainly sir, I'll retire. 

Exit door r. 2 e. 

Lord M. (l. h. severely) Mr. Carlyle, sir, do you possess 
sojittle honor that, taking advantage of my absence, you 
must intrude yourself upon my family and clandestinely 
espouse Lady Isabel Vane, my ward? 

Arch. (l. h.) Sir, there has been nothing clandestine in 
my conduct toward Lady Isabel Vane, nor shall there be 
anything but honor in my conduct toward Lady Isabel 
Carlyle, my wife. Your lordship has been misinformed. 

Lord M. I have not been informed at all. I was allowed 
i to learn this through the public journal — /, the only relative 
of Lady Isabel ! 

Arch. My first action after Isabel accepted me was to 

ite to your lordship asking your consent. 

Lord M. And pray, sir, where did you direct your letter ? 

Arch. Lady Mount Severn could not give me your 
address, as you were then traveling ; but she said if I would 
entrust my letter to her care she would forward it to you 
with others she was then writing. I did so, and in a few 
days received a message from her ladyship, that, as you 
had returned no answer, you of course approved of the 




» 



d M. Mr. Carlyle, is that a fact ? 
ch. My lord, whatever may be my defects in your 



14 EAST LYNNE 

eyes, I am at least a man of truth. Until this moment the 
thought that you were ignorant of this transaction never 
occurred to me. 

Lord M. So far then, I ask your pardon. But how came 
the ceremony to be hurried on in this unseemly fashion ? 
You made the offer at Easter, and were married three 
weeks after. 

Arch. Business took me to Castle Marling on Good 
Friday. I called at your house. I found Lady Isabel ill- 
treated and miserable, far from enjoying a home at your 
house. 

Lord M. What, sir ? Ill-treated and miserable ? 

Arch. Ill-treated even to blows, my lord. I learned all 
this through the chattering revelations of your little son. 
Isabel, of course, would not have told me ; but when he 
had spoken she could not deny it. In short, she was too 
completely bowed in spirit to deny it. It aroused all my 
feelings of indignation ; it excited in me an irresistible 
desire to release her from the thraldom that this cruel life 
had thrown around her, and take her where she would find 
affection and, I hope, happiness. There was only way in 
which I could do so. I risked all and asked her to become 
my wife, and return with me to East Lynne. 

Lord M. Then I am to understand that when you 
called at my house you had no intention of proposing^ 
Isabel ? 

Arch. Not any. It was an impromptu step, the circum- 
stances under which I found her calling it forth. 

Lord M. May I inquire if you love her, sir ? 

Arch. I do love her passionately and sincerely. I 
learned to love her at East Lynne, but I could have carried 
my love silently within me to the end of my life, and never 
have betrayed it ; and probably should have done so, had it 
not been for that unexpected visit to Castle Marling. If th( 
idea of making her my wife had even previously enterec 
my mind, the reason why I did not urge my suit was th; 
I deemed her rank incompatible with my own. 

Lord M. And so it was. 

Arch. Country solicitors have married peers' daughters 
before to-day. I only add another to the list. 

Lord M. But you cannot keep her as a peer's daughter, 
I presume. 

Arch. East Lynne will be our home. Our establish- 
ment will be small and quiet to what it was in her fatl 
time. I explained all this to Isabel at the first, so that 
might have retracted had she chosen to have done 



EAST LYNNE 1 5 

Your lordship now perceives, I hope, that there has been 
nothing clandestine in my conduct toward Lady Isabel. 

Lord M. Sir, I refused you my hand when you came 
in ; perhaps you will refuse me yours now, though I should 
be proud to take it. When I find myself in the wrong I'm 
not above acknowledging my fault, and I must say that, in 
my opinion, you have acted most kindly and honorably. 
( They shake hands) 

Of course, I cannot be ignorant that in speaking of 
Isabel's ill-treatment you allude to my wife. Has this trans- 
pired beyond yourselves ? 

Arch. Sir, you may be sure that neither Isabel nor my- 
self will ever mention it. Let it be as though you never 
heard it ; it is past and gone. 

Re-enter Isabel, r. 2 E. 

Lord M. Isabel, I came here to-day almost prepared to 
strike your husband. I go away honoring him. Be a good, 
faithful wife to him, for he deserves it. 

Isabel. Oh ! of course I shall, never fear. 

Lord M. And now, with your permission, I'll take a 
look about the grounds. 

Crosses to L. H. 

Isabel. We will accompany you. 
All exeunt, l. i e. 

Enter Miss Corney and Barbara Hare, r. i e. 

Barb, (l.) Papa was out on business ; mamma was too 
ill to come ; so I have ventured here alone. 

Miss C. (r.) I am glad you have come. I thought per- 
laps you would not be pleased with Archibald's selection 
of a wife. 

Barb. Not pleased, Miss Corney ? Why, what have I to 
do with his choice of a wife ? 

"Miss C. Gh ! nothing ; only there are so many ladies in 
1 |^^nd West Lynne that seemed to take such an interest 
in Archibald's welfare that I thought they might be dis- 
appointed in his marriage — that's all. 

Barb. On the contrary, I wish him all the happiness 
possible. He has ever treated me most kindly, and I sin- 

I* { hope he has found a wife worthy of him. 
3S C. Well, I like her better; than I thought I should, 
ected to find her full of airs and graces, but I must say 
s perfectly free from them, and she seems quite 



1 6 EAST LYNNE 

wrapped up in Archibald ; she watches for his coming as a 
cat would watch for a mouse. 

Barb. That is quite natural, I suppose. 

Miss C. I suppose it is very absurd. I give them very 
little of my company ; they go strolling out together, or she 
sings to him, while he hangs over her as if she were made 
of gold. O dear ! I have no patience with such silly non- 
sense. 

Barb. You must make some allowance for the fervor of 
youth. 

Miss C. Fervor of fiddlesticks ! Shall I tell you what I 
saw last night ? Well, Archibald had a severe headache 
after dinner, and went into the next room and lay upon the 
sofa. She took him in a cup of tea, and never came back 
again, leaving her own until it was perfectly cold. I went 
to say so to her, and there was my lady's fine cambric hand- 
kerchief soaked in cologne lying on his face, and she kneel- 
ing beside him. Now, Miss Barbara, don't you regard that 
as the height of nonsense ? 

Barb. I must say that I cannot agree with you in that 
respect. 

Miss C. Well, I know this much. If he had a headache 
before he was married, I gave him a good dose of senna 
and salts, and sent him to bed to sleep the pain off. 

Exit, R. I E. 

Barb. And she is happy with him — the only man I ever 
loved, or ever can love. Why did he pass rpe by for a 
baby-faced girl like that ? It cannot be that she is capable 
of loving him with the deep affection I might have bestowed 
on him. Ah ! they are coming this way. I'll retire into 
the conservatory. I could not endure a meeting now. 

Retires, r. 3 E. 

Re-enter Archibald and Isabel, l. i e. 

Arch. You are fatigued — are you not? 

Isabel. Oh ! no, not in the least ! You say you have beerf' 
intimate with this Hare family for a long time. 

Arch. Quite so. Cornelia, my half-sister, is related to 
them. 

Isabel. Don't you think Miss Barbara is very pretty ? 

Arch. Yes, very pretty. 

Isabel. Then, intimate as you are, I wonder you never 
fell in love with her. Did you, Archibald — oh ! did yc 

Arch. Did I what, Isabel ? 

Isabel. You never loved Barbara Hare — did you ? 




EAST LYNNE J 7 

Arch Loved her ? Why, Isabel, what is your mind 
running on ? I never loved but one— and that one I have 
made my own, my cherished wife. 

Isabel. Oh ! I believe you, my dear husband 

Arch. Well, now, you must sing to me, and then 1 11 
pay you with a kiss. . 

Isabel. With all my heart. What shall it be I 

Arch. Oh ! you know my favorite song. 

Isabel. Yes. Alas ! that was poor papa's favorite too. 

(She sings song, " You'll Remember Me." Archibald gets 
chair and places it c. ; gets on left hand of her; taking one 
hand in his leans tenderly over her. At end of song kisses 
her on the forehead. Barbara at back listening. Picture) 

CURTAIN 






Act II 

SCENE I. — Chamber in 4. Table and 2 chairs, r. h. Books 
on table, vases, etc., etc. 

Enter Lady Isabel and Levison, c. r. 

Levison. (l.) Do you remember the evening, Lady- 
Isabel, such a one as this, we all passed at Richmond — your 
father, Mrs. Vane, you, I, and the others ? 

Isabel, (r.) Yes, I remember it well. We passed a very 
pleasant day. The two Miss Challoners were with us. You 
drove Mrs. Vane home, and I went with poor papa. You 
drove recklessly, I recollect, and Mrs. Vane declared you 
should never drive her again. 

Levison. Which meant, not till next time. Of all 
capricious, vain, exacting women, Emma Vane was the 
worst. She was a systematic flirt, nothing better. I~ drove 
her recklessly on purpose to put her in a fright and pay her 
off. 

Isabel. Pay her off! Why, what had she done ? 

Levison. Put me in a rage ; saddled herself on me when 
she knew I desired another companion. 

Isabel. Oh, yes ! I know — Blanche Challoner. 

Levison. Blanche Challoner ! What did I care for her ? 
No, Lady Isabel, it was not Blanche ; you might have made 
a better guess at that time. 

Isabel. I do not understand you, sir. 

Levison. The past is gone, and cannot be recalled. We 
have both played our cards like simpletons. If ever two 
beings were formed to love each other, you and I were. I 
sometimes thought you. read my feelings. 

Isabel. Francis Levison — sir ! 

Levison. I must speak, Lady Isabel ; but a few words, 
and then I am silent forever. I would have declared myself 
then; but my debts, my uncertain position, my inability to 
keep a wife, as your taste and style demanded, crushed my 
hopes, and so I suffered you to escape me. 

Isabel. I will not listen to this language, sir. {Crosses l.) 

Levison. One single moment yet, I pray you. I have 
long wished you to know why I lost you — a loss that tells 
upon me yet ; but I knew not how passionately I loved you 
until you becfjne the wife of another. Isabel, I love yoi 
still. 

18 



u 

1 



EAST LYNNE ig 

Isabel. How dare you presume to address me thus ? 

Levison. What I have said can do no harm now ; the 
time has gone by. We have each chosen our parts in life 
and must abide by them. The gulf between us is impassable, 
but the fault was mine. I ought to have avowed my affec- 
tion for you, and not to have suffered you to throw yourself 
away on Mr. Carlyle. 

Isabel. Do I hear aright ? Throw myself away on Mr. 
Carlyle, my husband — beloved, honored, and esteemed by- 
all who know him ! Why, I married him of my own choice,, 
and have never since regretted it. Look at his manly 
bearing, his noble mind, his generous nature ! What are; 
you in comparison ? You forget yourself, Francis Levison. 
(Crosses, R.) 

Levison. No, I do not. I pray you forget and forgive 
'what has escaped me, and suffer me to be as heretofore, the 
kind friend, the anxious brother, endeavoring to be of serv- 
ice to you in the absence of Mr. Carlyle. 

Isabel. It is what I have suffered you to be, looking 
upon^ou in the light of a friend, I might say relative; not 
otherwise would I have permitted your incessant compan- 
ionship ; and thus it is you have repaid me. My husband, 
and whom you would depreciate in my eyes, has sheltered 
you, and screened you from the law. He has thanked you 
for your attention to me. Could he have read what was in 
your false heart, he would have offered you thanks of a dif- 
ferent sort, I fancy. 

Levison. I ask your pardon, Lady Isabel. I have ac- 
knowledged my fault ; I can do no more. I shall not offend 
you again. But there are moments when our hearts' dear- 
est feelings break through the conventionalities of life, and 
betray themselves in spite of our sober judgment. But I see 
that I must leave you now ; so adieu — not adieu, but au 
revoir. 

Exit, c. L. 

Isabel. Oh I how can I ever tell my husband that this 
man, whom he has befriended and sheltered from the law, 
has thus dared to speak to me of love ! Heaven only knows 
what the consequences would be — a duel, perhaps. No, no, 
I cannot tell him ; yet I feel I ought to tell him all. I will 
seek him instantly, my kind, my good, my noble husband. 

Exit, c. R. 
E?iter Joyce, l. i e., meeting Wilson from r. i e. 
Wilson, (r.) I say, Joyce, don't you think she looks very 
1 ? — my lady, I mean. She looks just as if she'd never get 



!• 



20 EAST LYNNE 

over it. My goodness ! wouldn't somebody's hopes be rai.:ed 
again if anything was to happen ? 

Re-enter Isabel, c. r., and listens, 

Joyce, (l.) Oh! nonsense! what stuff! 

Wilson. You may cry out nonsense as much as you 
like, but they would ; she'd snap him up to a dead certainty ; 
she'd never let him escape her a second time ; she is just as 
much in love with him as ever. 

Joyce. That's all rubbish — all talk and fancy ! Mr. Car- 
lyle never cared for her, at all events. 

Wilson. That's more than you know. I've seen him kiss 
her ; and he gave her that locket and chain which she 
wears about her neck ; she hardly lets it off" either ; and I 
do believe she sleeps with it. 

Joyce. How thoroughly stupid she must be ! 

Wilson. And that's not all. I saw them one evening, 
many months ago, when I lived at Miss Hare's house. She 
always steals out to the gate when she thinks it is about 
time for Mr. Carlyle to pass on his way from his office, on 
purpose to have a sly chat with him. Well, this evening I 
crept down behind the hedges, and then I heard all they 
were saying ; she was crying bitterly, and then I heard Mr. 
Carlyle tell her that in future he could only be a dear brother 
to her ; and then I saw him kiss her. 

Joyce. Then she's a downright fool to go on crying for 
a man that never cared for her. 

Wilson. But she does do it yet ; and so I say if any- 
thing was to happen now, Miss Barbara, as sure as fate, 
would step into her shoes. I mean if Mr. Carlyle should 
ever get tired of my lady. 

Joyce. Wilson, have the goodness to recollect yourself. 

Wilson. Well, what have I said now ? Nothing but the 
truth. Men are shamefully fickle ; husbands are worse than 
sweethearts too, and if anything was to happen now — 

Joyce. I tell you what it is, Wilson, if you think to pur- 
sue this sort of topic at East Lynne, I shall inform my lady 
that you are not fit for the situation. 

Wilson. Oh ! you were always one of the straight-laced 
sort ; but I've had my say, and now I'm satisfied. 

Exit Wilson, r. ie, and Joyce, l. i e. 

Isabel, {advancing, c.) O misery, misery ! O how palpa- 
ble to all eyes must be that woman's love for my husband ! 
Palpable indeed when all East and West Lynne are talking 
of it ; and even my servants daily gossip over it, and ex- 



EAST LYNNE 21 

tend their pity to me. Oh ! I cannot bear it — the thought 
will drive me frantic. {Sees Archibald e?itering, c. ; rushes 
to him and in afra?itic ma?iner) [Q Archibald ! do not marry 
her ! I could not rest in my grave if you did. She would 
draw your love from our children and from my memory. 
Archibald, you must not marry her. 

Arch. (l. h.) Why, Isabel ! you must be speaking under 
the influence of some terrible dream, and you are not 
awake. Be still awhile, and recollection will return to you. 
There, love, rest on me. {Folds her to his breast) 

Isabel, (r. h.) Oh ! no ; I know perfectly well what I am 
saying. To think of her as your wife brings pain enough to 
kill me. Promise me you will not marry her. 

Arch. I will promise anything in reason, my dear wife. 
But I do not know what you mean. There is no possibility 
of my marrying any one. You are my wife, are you not ? 

Isabel. I know I am now, but I might die. Indeed, I 
think I shall die. Oh ! do not let her usurp my place. 

Arch. Why, Isabel, what is your mind running on ? 
Who is it that is thus troubling you ? Of whom are you 
speaking ? 

Isabel. Of Barbara Hare. 

Arch. Isabel, what notion you can possibly have picked 
up concerning Barbara Hare and myself, I am unable to 
conceive. I never loved her either before marriage or 
since. 

Isabel. But she loved you. 

Arch. If this was so, she was more weak, reprehensibly 
foolish than I could have thought her. I had given her 
credit for having better sense. A woman may almost as 
well love herself as suffer herself to love unsought. If, 
however, she did give her love to me, I can only say that I 
was entirely unconscious of it. Believe me, Isabel, you 
have as much cause to be jealous of my sister Cornelia as 
of Barbara Hare. 

Isabel. Oh ! I will believe you, Archibald ; it was only 
a foolish thought. I will banish it forever from my mind. 
{Aside) I cannot tell him I was foolish enough to listen to 
the gossip of my servants ; he would despise me for it. 
{Aloud) I. will leave you now. I am fatigued, I will retire 
to my own room. {Going, r.) Yes, I will trust him; if 
not, in whom can I trust ? 

Exit, R. 2 E. 

Sch. What can have put this by-gone nonsense into 
■fife's head ? 




22 EAST LYNNS 

Enter Miss Corney, r. i e . 

Miss C. Archibald, I wish to speak to you in reg-ard to 
Sf^nefs.^" 8011 - l d ° n,t Hke dther hlS a P™e or 
trett^ithXtt. 116 " Wgu^«Hl as such must be 

Miss C. {crossing, l.) With respect, indeed » He's a 
good-for-nothing villain, if Fm any judge of character and 
I don't care how soon you tell him so. cnaiacter > and 

Exit, L. I E. 

Arch. Poor Cornelia! she's hard to please- she's evi- 
dently annoyed at some trifling matter. ' 

£>zter Barbara, r. h. 

Ah! good-morning, Barbara. I am glad to see vou at 
my house. Did you come by yourself? Y 

Barb, (r h.) Yes, Archibald. You must pardon mv in- 
trusion at this hour, and regard me as a client. I cam e on 
some business for mamma, but it's of a private nature 
Mamma was too ill to come out herself, so she ha sent me' 
• Can we converse without being overheard ? 

Arch. Be at ease, Barbara, this room is free from the 
Barbara C ""T* (( ** '***> P 4 be seated! 

BARB.* S t r^" SeCrCtS '^ y ° U to disd0Se ? 

Arch. Richard at East Lynne ! 
; Barb. He appeared near the house last night and made 

on TnSnTit'rbe'T?^ Y °V^ ™^ne ^su^risl 
on nnding it to be Richard in disguise. He has been in 

ash n ame n d a to tell ™ V?^ haIf " sta ™ng. I am almos" 
ArchTb^h. Z ' bu \ workin 2 ln a stable-yard; and O 

b m ;r'„ b a u ^'oV"n:or o reallydid the ^—p^s, 

Arch. Thorn? What Thorn can it be > 

Bare. I don't know ; some friend of Afy's who used to 
ride over to the cottage in secret visits to hen ArchTblid 
he swears to me in the most solemn manner ; and I believe 
hun as truly as that I am now speaking to you I a m 
you to see h.m yourself. He is coming to the grove again to 
night He will tell you all the circumstances*? AeTm£ 
night, and perhaps you can find out a way in which Mi 
innocence can be made manifest. You are so clever y 
can do anything. VCI ' 



'ilS 



EAST LYNNE 23 

Arch. < Not quite everything, Barbara. But was this the 
purport of Richard's visit — to tell you this ? 

Barb. Oh ! no ; he thinks it would be of no use to assert 
his innocence, for nobody would believe him against the 
evidence already given. He came to ask for a hundred 
pounds. He says if he can get that sum he has an oppor- 
tunity of doing better for himself than he has hitherto done. 
So mamma has sent me to you. She has not that sum by 
her at present, and as it is for Richard, she dare not ask 
papa for it. She says, if you can oblige her with the money, 
she will arrange with you about the repayment. 

Arch. Do you want it now ? If so, I must send Dill to 
the office. I have not that sum by me in the house. 

Barb. Can you not bring it with you, and see Richard at 
the^same time ? 

Arch. It is hazardous, for him I mean. Still, as he is 
to be in the grove, I may as well see him. What disguise 
is he in ? 

Barb. That of a farm laborer — the best he could adopt 
in these parts — also a heavy pair of black whiskers. He is 
to be there at ten precisely. 

Arch. Well, then, I think I can come ; but in order to 
do so I must disappoint a supper-party to which we have 
been invited. However, my wife won't mind that when I 
tell her the business is so urgent. Yes, you can tell your 
mother I'll come. 

Barb. O Archibald! you are very kind to us! You 
have ever treated me like a dear sister, and mamma is 
grateful to you for all your attention to her. I fear we can 
never repay you sufficiently. 

Rises to go, r. 1 e. 

Arch, {rising) I have only done what I felt to be my 
duty in the matter. {Crosses r. h.) Let me escort you to the 
gate. 

Exit with Barbara, arm-in- arm, r. i e., at same time e?iter 
Lady Isabel, r. 2 e., and Levison, c. l., in time to see 
them off. 

Isabel, (r. h. looking after them) That woman here — in 
privacy with my husband — under, my very roof, too ! — Ah ! 
then, it is too true. My husband no longer loves me ! 
( Tur?is and sees Levison.) You here, sir ? {Sits at table, R.) 
T evison. (l. h.) Who the deuce is that Barbara Hare ? 
s a very pretty girl. She seems to have a very good 
erstand; ig with your husband. Several times I've en- 



: 



24 EAST LYNNE 



countered them too-erher nn th* i~ . . 

walks, and private S, W " 6nj ° ylng moonlight 

Isabel, (coldly) What did you say sir ? 

Retires up, l. h. 
Enter Joyce, l. i e. 

tirefor'the'nLTt^nd 6 ^^' ** Isabd wishes 
going to sleep Wa " tS you t0 kiss her before 

andleave £***» ** the " UrSe to ^ ** <*ild to bed, 

sayn^goShf h rL PU ' * e Chi L d t0 bed with -t even 
here. g ^ Theres sc ™ething strange going on 

Exit, l. i e. 

terming SeffoVL^l'^t" the ' iberty o( c0 »n- 
she has qnite enongh Iheady S3bel S " ew fr ° Ck - J thil * 

cafe <&#£} bSffl^X'SKl^J?- 

I will be mistress in my own house. UtUre 

-£W<?r Archibald, r. i e 
wiJn I y OU C j u ( s L tn ^ rChiba,d ' ^ ™ Barbara Hare want 
*2^&£Z'£S& She -rely wished to see 

A%^&%£?%Wt£*$« <*" wanted 
always wanting vou now r-?K , She seems to be 
raked up again ? ' Ca " " be that old a «™ «■ to be 

to thafold affaTrlfer W "' 0bKge me by ne -r referri 




EAST LYNNE 



25 



Lady Isabel's extravagance. Poor Archibald! he works 
like a horse now, and can hardly keep expenses down. 

Exit, L. I E. 

Isabel, {coming forward, r.) Archibald what did that 
woman, that Barbara Hare, want here ? 

Arch. (l. h.) It is a private business, Isabel. She brings 
me messages from her mother. 

Isabel. Must the business be kept secret from me ? 

Arch. It would not make you happier to know it, Isabel. 
There is a dark secret hanging over the Hare family ; it is 
connected with that. I am summoned away on some urgent 
business this evening {^therefore I cannot attend you to the 
supper-party. You can use the carriage and go by yourself. 
I will endeavor to be there in time to escort you home. I 
am" already late, and as I have to go to my office first, I must 
away at once. Good evening, and a pleasant party to you. 

Exit, R. H. 

Isabel. What mystery can they have between them that 
he dares not reveal to me, his wife ! Ah ! he is deceiving 
me, I am certain of it. Oh ! I am wretched, jealous, mad ! 

Sits at table r. Enter Levison, l. i e. 

Levison. {aside) I wonder what the deuce that Hare girl 
can want with Carlyle. I followed them down to the gate 
and overheard them plan a meeting in the grove for this 
evening. Perhaps Lady Isabel would like to be present 
also. {Aloud) Ah ! still alone I see, Lady Isabel. I expected 
to find you so. I suspect that Mr. Carlyle is more agree- 
ably engaged. 

Isabel. Engaged ! in what manner, sir ? 

Levison. As I came up the lawn, a few minutes since, I 
saw a lady and gentleman enjoying a tete-a-tete by moon- 
light. I followed them to the gate, and overstepped the 
bounds of good manners so far as to listen to a part of their 
conversation. I heard them arrange a meeting in the grove 
for this evening, and unless I am very much mistaken the 
favored individual was Mr. Carlyle. 

Isabel, {rising) My husband ! O sir, you cannot mean 
that ! Oh ! if I thought him capable of such a falsehood to 
me, I would leave his roof at once ! 

Levison. (l.) That's right; be avenged on the false 
.hound. He never was worthy of your love. Leave your 
ho I of misery, and come to one of happiness. Come, let 
me prove his perfidy to you. 



26 EAST LYNNE 

Isabel, (r.) Only prove this, and I will quit his house 
forever. 

Levison. With me, Isabel ? 

Isabel. Ay, with you. I care not who shall be the in- 
strument of my vengeance. 

Exeunt c. d. l. 

Scene II. — Landscape i?i i. 

Enter Richard and Barbara, r. i e. 

Barbara, (r. h.) Richard, we must not stand so near 
the house ; papa is at home, you see, of all the nights in 
the world. You must wait till to-morrow night, and then 
perhaps you can see mamma. 

Rich. (l. h.) I don't like waiting another night. Barbara, 
there's danger in every inch of ground this neighborhood 
.contains. 

Barb. You must wait, Richard, for other reasons. The 
man who caused all the mischief is at West Lynne ; at 
least there is a man staying there by the name of Thorn ; 
so Bethel just told Mr. Carlyle as we stood by his gate, and 
Mr. Carlyle wishes you to see him. Should it prove to be 
the same, perhaps nothing can be done immediately toward 
discharging you, but it will be a great point ascertained. 
Are you sure that you should know him again ? 

Rich. Sure that I should know him ? Should I know 
my own father? Should I know you ? Is he not engraven 
on my brain in letters of blood ? But how or when am I 
to see him? 

Barb. I cannot tell you more till Mr. Carlyle comes. 
Poor Richard ! I hope the time will soon come when you 
can walk forth in open day. 

Enter Archibald, r. h. 

O Archibald! I am so glad that you have come. Our 
suspicion with regard to the man Thorn can now be set 
at rest. It seems to me Providence has directed his steps 
here at this very time. You must contrive that Richard 
shall see him. 

Arch, {crossing to Richard) Richard, your sister tells 
me that you wish to disclose to me the true history of that 
lamentable night. There is an old saying, and it is a sound 
advice, " Tell the whole truth to your doctor and your law-*^ 
yer." If I am to judge whether anything can be attempted 
for you, you must tell me the whole truth without reserve ;" 



EAST LYNNE 2J 

otherwise I would rather hear nothing. It shall be a sacred 
trust. 

Rich, (l.) Well, if I must make a clean breast of it, I did 
love the girl Afy, and would have made her my wife in 
time ; but I could not do so then in the very face of my 
father's opposition. I went to the house on the evening in 
question to take my gun — Hallijohn had requested the loan 
of it ; he was out at the time, so I handed it to Afy, who 
met me at the door. She would not allow me to go inside 
of it as usual. I was mad with jealousy, for I felt sure that 
Thorn was in the cottage with her, although she strongly 
denied it ; so I determined to wait and convince myself. I 
secreted myself in the shrubbery in the garden, where I 
could see all that passed within the cottage. Presently I 
saw Hallijohn come up the path by me, and go into the 
house. Not long after, perhaps twenty minutes, I heard the 
gun fired, and at the same time saw Thorn leap from the 
cottage window and run wildly down the path, directly by 
me, to where his horse had been tied, jump in the saddle 
and gallop off. 

Arch, (c.) Did you know where this Thorn lived ? 

Rich. I could never ascertain. Afy said he lived away 
ten miles distant. He used to ride over once or twice a 
week to see her. I always thought he came there under a 
false name. He appeared to be an aristocrat, though of 
very bad taste. He made a great display of jewelry, ex- 
pensive, too — such as diamonds. 

Arch. But you were afterward seen with the gun in 
your hand coming from the cottage. 

Rich. I went there to upbraid Afy for having deceived 
me. Mad with jealousy, I hardly knew what I did ; but I 
had no idea that a murder had been committed. As I en- 
tered the door, the first thing I stumbled over was Halli- 
john's lifeless body. I saw my gun lying beside him. 
Some vague idea flashed across my brain that my gun ought 
not to be found there ; so I seized it and rushed out just as 
people began to collect, and to my horror I was taken for 
the murderer ; so I threw down my gun and fled. 

Arch. And that act alone condemned you. You acted 
like a guilty man, and that line of conduct often entails as 
much trouble as real guilt. 

Barb, (r.) And you do not believe him guilty ? 

Arch. I do not. I have little doubt of the guilt of 
Thorn ; but I do not think, from your description of the 
man, that it is the same person who is now in the neighbor- 
hood. There is the money, Richard. {Hands him notes.) 



28 EAST LYNNE 

You had better depart now for fear of spies ; but be here 
again to-morrow night at this hour, and, in the meantime, 
I'll decide what course you are to adopt, and how I can 
best serve you. 

Rich. Good-night, my more than friend ; good-night, 
my dear sister. 

Exit, L. I E. 

Arch. And now, Barbara, I'll see you to your gate. 

Barb. Never mind, Archibald, it is only a few steps. I 
can go by myself. 

Arch, {crosses r. h.) Nonsense, Barbara ! Allow you to 
go by yourself along the high-road at this hour ? Take my 
arm. 

Exeunt, r. i e. 

Enter Lady Isabel and Levison, l. i e., in time to see them 

off. 

Levison. There, Lady Isabel, I told you what you might 
see — there is the proof. 

Isabel. Take me away from this accursed place, Francis 
Levison. I am faint — ill — wretched — mad ! 

Exit, l. i e., both. 

Scene III. — -Chamber in 4. Same as Scene I. 

Enter Archibald, c. Goes to table, r. h., and rings bell. 
Enter Joyce, l. i e. 

Arch. Joyce, where is your mistress ? 

Joyce. Is she not in her chamber, sir ? 

Arch. I have been looking everywhere. She is not in 
the house. 

Joyce. O heavens ! I see it all now ; her wild words to 
me — her strange looks. O master ! she has destroyed her- 
self, and she's been driven to it. 

Arch. Destroyed herself! What do you mean ? 

Joyce. Master, she has destroyed herself as sure as we 
two are living. But a short time ago she called me to her — 
her face was like death — and exacted of me a solemn prom- 
ise to-stay here at East Lynne with the children, if anything 
happened to take her from them. I asked her if she was 
ill, and she said, " Yes, Joyce, ill and wretched !" O sir ! may 
Heaven support you in this dreadful trial ! 

Enter Miss Corney, l. i e. 
Miss C. What's all this ? whatever's up ? where 's my 
lady? 



EAST LYNNE 29 

Joyce, (c.) She has gone and taken the life that was not 
hers to take, and I say she has been driven to it by you. 
You've curbed her, you've snapped at her, and reproached 
her with extravagance — you know it, ma'am. All these 
years she's been crossed and put upon by you, and she's 
borne it all in silence like a patient angel. We all loved her, 
we all felt for her, and master's heart would have bled for 
her, had he only known what she had to put up with from 
you day after day, year after year. Many and many's the 
time I've seen her coming from your reproaches with 
quivering lip and moistened eye, and her hands clasped 
meekly across her breast as though life was too heavy to 
bear. (Goes up to table, r. h.) 

Arch, (crosses to Cornelia) Cornelia, if this be true, 
may Heaven forgive you for it. 

Jo^iCE. (finding letter on table — coming down, R.) O mas- 
ter — see. Here is a letter she has left ; it is my lady's hand- 
writing; read it, master. (Archibald takes the letter — 
opens it — reads it — and staggers to chair l. of table, r. h.) 

Joyce. Oh ! what does she say ? Is she dead ? 

Arch. Worse than that ! worse than that ! 

Miss C. Why, Archibald ! what do you mean ? 

Arch. She has eloped with Francis Levison ! 

Miss C. Oh ! the disgraceful, unworthy — 

Arch. Hush, Cornelia ! Not one word against her — no 
— not one ! (Archibald in chair, overcome by deep grief. 
Joyce, r. h., appealing to Heaven. Miss Corney bending 
over Archibald. Picture) 

curtain 



ACT III 

SCENE I. — Chamber in I. 
Enter, r, i e., Archibald, reading a letter. 

Arch, {reading) " When years go on, and my children ask 
where their mother is, and why she left them, tell them that you, 
their father, goaded her to it. If they inquire what she is, tell 
them also, if you will, but tell them at the same time that you 
outraged and betrayed her, driving her to the depths of des- 
peration ere she quitted the?n in her despair!' O Isabel ! I 
forgive you the injustice these words do my heart. May 
they never cause you the pangs of misery they have in- 
flicted on me. 

Enter Miss Corney, r. i e. 

Miss C. Archibald, what's the time, I wonder ? 

Arch. Just nine, Cornelia. 

Miss C. Well, then, I think I'll go to bed, and after I'm 
in it, I'll have a basin of arrow-root or gruel, or some slop 
of that sort. I'm sure I've been free enough all my life of 
wanting any such sick stuff. 

Arch. Well, do so, if you think it will do you any good". 

Miss C. Well, there's one thing I know of that's excel- 
lent for a cold in the head ; and that is to take your red 
flannel petticoat and tie it on crosswise over your night- 
cap. I'll try it too. (Sneezes.) 

Exit, R. I E. 

Arch. I'm uncommonly gloomy to-night ; it's a bitter 
night out too. I wonder if it's snowing yet. {Goes to win- 
dow in plat \ l. h.) 

Richard Hare speaks outside, L. 

Rich. O Mr. Carlyle 1 for the love of Heaven let me 
come in. I'm nearly frozen ; it is I, Richard ! 

Archibald opens door, l. h. 
Enter Richard Hare. 

Arch. (r. h.) Richard, I'm thunderstruck ! I fear 
have done wrong in coming here. 

Rich. (l. h.) What could I do better ? The Bow StiJ 
officers were after me, set on by that wretch Thorn. I ha 
30 



. 



EAST LYNNE 3 1 

to leave London at a moment's notice, without a thing be- 
longing to me. Even now the officers may be in pursuit. 
I have walked all the way from London here. I had no 
money to pay for a lodging, or even to buy food. I waited 
outside the window till I saw you were alone ; so I thought 
I would ask your advice. 

Arch. Have you then discovered this man Thorn ? 

Rich. Yes ; about a week ago, for the first time. I got 
a glimpse of him as he was passing by in a carriage. I tried 
to follow him then, but they drove too fast for me ; but last 
evening I saw him again standing in front of one of the 
theatres. I went up and stood close at his elbow ; he saw 
and in a moment recognized me, for he turned deadly pale. 
" What do you want, fellow ?" said he, in an angry tone. 
" I want to know who you are," I replied. Then he flew 
into- a fierce passion, and swore that if ever he caught me 
near him again he would hand me over to the nearest 
officer ; " and remember," yelled he, as he walked away, 
" people are not given into custody for merely watching 
people !" That convinced me beyond all doubt that it was 
he. I tried to follow, but the great crowd of people in the 
street at that time kept me partially out of sight. At 
length he called a carriage, and as he rode away he pointed 
ine out to an officer who had been standing near; but I 
fnanaged to get among the crowd again, and fled as fast as 
possible. After that I knew I was no longer safe in London. 
O Mr. Carlyle, is this life to go on with me forever ? 

Arch. J am deeply sorry for you, Richard; I wish I 
could remedy it. 

Miss C. {outside) Archibald ! who have you got in that 
room ? 

Arch. It's some person to see me on business, Cornelia. 
You cannot come in now. It's only my sister, Richard. Be 
a man, and shake off this fear. No harm shall come to you 
in my house. But you "had better retire till I have spoken 
to my sister. 

Puts him off, L. H. 

Miss C. {outside) Not come, indeed ! Open the door, I say. 

Archibald ope?is the door, r. h., and Cornelia enters with 
a red petticoat tied on her head ; looks round stage. 

(r. h.) Where is she, I say? Oh ! you ought to 
of yourself — you, a married man with children 
, too ! Oh ! I'd rather believe anything wicked 
an of you, Archibald. 




32 EAST LYNNE 

Arch. (l. h.) Why, what do you mean ? Are you crazy, 
Cornelia ? There has been no woman here, but a man who 
fears the police are on his track ; you ought to be able to 
guess his name. 

Miss C. What ! not Richard Hare ? Let me see him. 

Arch. Why, surely you would not present yourself to 
him in that guise ? 

Miss C. What? not show myself to Richard Hare in 
this guise — he whom I have whipped ten times a day when 
he was a boy, and he deserves it now for getting into such 
a scrape. He looks no better than I do, I dare say. 
Where is he ? (Archibald brings him out) Why, Richard, 
what on earth has brought you here ? You must have been 
crazy. 

Rich. The Bow Street officers were after me, and I had 
to cut away from London at a moment's notice. I had no 
money to pay for a lodging or to buy me food ; so I came 
to Mr. Carlyle to befriend me. 

Miss C. (r. h.) It just serves }rou right. You would go 
hunting after that brazen hussey, Afy Hallijohn. 

Arch, (c.) Cornelia, this is no time for upbraidings. Do 
you go and prepare him some food, while I see after his 
lodgings. 

Crosses and exits, l. h. 

Miss C. Well, come along, Richard ; I'll see what can 
be done for you ; but you know you always was the greatest 
natural-born fool that was ever let loose out of leading- 
strings. 

Exeunt, r. i e. 

Scene II. — Chamber in 4. 

Lady Isabel discovered seated at a table near fireplace, r. h. 
2 e., wrapped in a large shawl — very pale and very ill. 

Isabel. Alas ! what is to be the end of my sufferings ? 
How much longer can I bear this torture of mind, this 
never-dying anguish of soul ? From what a dream have I 
awakened ! O lady, wife, mother ! whatever trials may be 
the lot of your married life, though they may magnify them- 
selves to your crushed spirit as beyond the nature, the en 
durance of woman to bear, yet resolve to bear them. Fall 
down on your knees and pray for patience ; pray for strengf 
to resist that demon who would tempt you to accept the; 
Bear them unto death, rather than forget your good nam 
and your good conscience. Oh ! I have sacrified husband, 




EAST LYNNE 33 

home, children, friends, and all that make life of value to 
woman — and for what? To be forever an outcast from 
society, to never again know a moment's peace. Oh ! that 
I could die, and end my suffering and my misery. (Sinks her 
head on table. Enter Levison, c. ' d. She sees him, and 
speaks coldly.) 

Isabel. You here, sir ? Why did you come now ? 

Levison. (l.) Why did I come ? Are these all the thanks 
a fellow gets for traveling in this inclement weather ? I 
thought, at least, that you would be glad to welcome me. 

Isabel, (r.) I am glad, for one reason, to welcome you 
that we may come to an understanding with each other. 
Let there be plain truth in this interview, if there never was 
before. 

Levison. With all my heart. It is you who have thrown 
out the challenge, mind. {Sits l. of tabled) 

Isabel. When you left me in July, you gave me your 
solemn promise to be back in time for our marriage. You 
well know what I mean, when I say hi time. 

Levison. Oh ! of course I meant to do so. I gave you 
the promise ; but no sooner had I set foot in London than 
I found myself completely overwhelmed with business from 
which I could not extricate myself. 

Isabel. You are breaking faith with me already ; your 
words are not words of truth, but of deceit. You did not 
intend to be back in time for the marriage ; otherwise, you 
would have caused it to take place ere you went away. 

Levison. Well, Isabel, you must be aware that it is an 
awful sacrifice for a man in my position to marry a divorced 
woman. 

Isabel. When I wished or expected the sacrifice, it was 
not for my own sake. I told you so then. It was for the 
sake of my child. But it is too late now, and his inheritance 
must 'be that of sin and shame. 

Levison. Isabel, I am now the representative of an an- 
cient and respected baronetcy, and to make you my wife 
would offend my family. 

Isabel, (rising. At table.) Stay, sir ! You need not trouble 
■yourself to find new excuses now. Had you taken this 
journey on purpose to make me your wife, nay, were the 
clergyman standing by to perform the ceremony, I tell you, 
FYancis Levison, I would not have you ! I can imagine any 
fate in life better than being compelled to pass it with you. 
(Sinks in seat exhausted}} 

Levison. Indeed ! You made commotion enough once 
'about my making you reparation. 



/ 



34 EAST LYNNE 

Isabel. I know I did ; but that time is over now. All 
the reparation in your power to make, all the reparation the 
whole world could invent, could not undo my sin; — it and 
its effects must be upon me forever. 

Levison. {laughing s arc as tic a! 'y) O sin ! You ladies 
should think of that beforehand. 

Isabel. I pray Heaven they may ! May Heaven help all 
so to do, who may be tempted as I was ! 

Levison. If you mean that as a reproach to me, it's 
rather out of place. The. temptation to sin lay not in my 
persuasion half so much as in your ridiculous, jealous anger 
against your husband. 

Isabel. Quite true ! Quite true ! 

Levison. With regard to your husband and that Hare 
girl, you were blindly, outrageously jealous. For my part, 
I don't believe Carlyle ever thought of the girl in the way 
you imagine he did. There was some disreputable secret 
connected with the Hare family, and Carlyle was acting in 
it under the rose for Mrs. Hare. She was too ill to attend to 
the matter herself, so she sent the young lady. 

Isabel. You told me a very different tale then, sir. 
Levison. I know I did. That was merely my stratagem. 
All stratagems are fair in love and war. By the by, what 
have ycu named the young article there ? {Points to cradle.) 
Isabel. The name which ought to have been his by in- 
heritance — Francis Levison. 

Levison. What does he look like ? Is he anything like 
my handsome self? 

Isabel. If he did — if he were like you in thought, or in 
spirit — I would pray to Heaven that he might die before lie 
ever spoke. 

Levison. Anything else ? I would advise you to be care- 
ful how you deal out your small change, Lady Isabel. You 
may get it back with interest. Is my room prepared ? 

Isabel. You have no room here, sir. These apartments 
are rented to me in my own name now ; they can no longer 
afford you shelter. I received these from you one month 
ago. {Takes package of bank-notes from box on table) Forty 
pounds — count them. Is all right? because I wish to return 
them to you. I wish all to end between us. 

Levison. If it be your wish that all relation between us 
should cease, why, so be it. Remember, though, it is your 
own doing, not mine. But you cannot suppose I will allow 
you to starve ; a sum shall be placed *at your banker's 
your credit half-yearly. 

Isabel. I beg you to cease. What do you take me for 




EAST LYNNE 35 

Levison. Take you for ? Why, how can you live ? You 
have no fortune — you must receive assistance from some 
one. 

Isabel. But not from you ; no, not from you. If the 
whole world denied me, if I could receive no help from 
strangers, or means of earning a livelihood, I'd go and ask 
my husband for bread, sooner than accept one farthing from 
you. 

Levison. Bless us, how bitter ! Oh ! yes, I know, your 
husband — a very generous man. It's a pity you left him 
though. Well, Isabel, since you will accept nothing for your- 
self, you must for the child. He, at any rate, falls to my 
share. I'll give you a few hundreds a year with him. 

Isabel. Not a farthing now. Or even, sir, were you to 
send it, I would throw it into the nearest river. Whom do 
you take me for ? If you have put me beyond the pale of 
the world, I am still Lord Mount Severn's daughter. 

Levison. Well, Isabel, if you will persist in this perverse; 
resolution, of course, I cannot amend it. In a little while, 
however, you may wish to recall it ; if so, a line addressed 
to me at my banker's will always reach me. 

Isabel. It will not be needed, sir. Your clothes, which 
you left here when you went to England, you will have the*- 
goodness to order Pierre to take away this afternoon. h'M( 
now, it is my wish that we part. 

Levison. To remain as mortal enemies forever? 

Isabel. To be as strangers, sir. 

Levison. {rising — offering her his hand) And will yoi 
not even shake hands at parting ? 

Isabel. I should prefer not, sir. 

Levison. Oh ! very well ; just as you please. Da-da- 



ta-ta ! 



Exit. c. l. 



Isabel. And what is left me now but the deepest, black- 
est despair. I am bowed down by the weight of my own 
sin and shame. Why did I ever leave vny home and my 
dear husband ? Oh ! would I could wake and find it all a 
terrible dream ; that I could find myself once more at East 
Lynne with my husband and children about me, a happy, 
contented mother. But no — no — it cannot be ! and I must 
bear the consequences of my sin forever ! {Sinks her head 
on table. Lord Mount Severn enters, c. l. She sees him 
and covers her head zejith the shaivl.) 

Oh ! go away, Lord Mount Severn, I beg ! Why did you 
Seek me out ? I am not worth it. I have brought disgrace 
Enough upon your name. 



$6 EAST LYNNE 

Lord M. And upon your husband and your children. 
Nevertheless, it is incumbent on me, as your nearest blood 
relative, to look after you and see that you do not fall 
lower. You were one of the last I should have feared to 
trust. If ever a woman had a good husband in every sense 
of the word, you had one in Mr. Carlyle. How could you 
so requite him ? 

Isabel, (r. h. At table) I believed that his love was no 
longer mine. I thought that he had deserted me for an- 
other. 

Lord M. I had given you credit for having better sense, 
Isabel. But was that enough to hurl you on to the steps 
you took ? Surely not ; you must have yielded to the per- 
suasions of that bold, wicked man. 

Isabel. It is all over now. 

Lord M. Where do you intend to fix your future home ? 

Isabel. Wherever Heaven directs. I shall leave this 
place as soon as I am strong enough to travel. 

Lord M. You were here witl} him — were you not ? 

Isabel. Yes;*they think I am his wife. 

Lord M. It is well. How many servants have you ? 

Isabel. Two ; maid, and a — a — nurse. 
\ Lord M. A nurse! Isabel, is there then a child f 
toward— sneak ! may all good men shun him henceforth ! 
JQ ., Isabel, you, an earl's daughter! How utterly you have 
«**lost yourself ! 

Isabel. Oh ! spare me — I beseech you ! You have been 
rending my heart ever since you came here. I am too weak 
to bear it. 

Lord M. How do you propose to live ? 

Isabel. I have some money left. 

Lord M. His money, Isabel ? 

Isabel. No, not his money. I am selling my trinkets one 
by one. Before they are all gone I shall look out for some 
means of earning a livelihood ; by teaching, most probably. 

Lord M. What sum will it take for you to live upon ? 

Isabel. I cannot accept anything from you. 

Lord M. Absurd, Isabel. Do not add romantic folly to 
your other faults. Your father is gone, but I stand in his 
place. 

Isabel. No — no— I do not desire it. I have forfeited all 
claim to assistance. 

Lord M. But not to mine. I look upon this as a duty, 
an imperative one too. On my return to England I will 
settle four hundred a year upon you, and you can draw it 
quarterly, and so, Isabel, I bid you farewell. May your 



EAST LYNNE 7>7 

future life be peaceful, for happy it can never be. ( Taking her 
ha?id, kindly) Farewell, Isabel. 

Exit, c. L. 

Isabel, (rises and crosses to left of table) And now I am 
alone forever ! Why don't I die ! — why don't I die ! (Falls 
in chair — bows head on table, sobbing bitterly.) 

CURTAIN 



ACT IV 

. SCENE I. — Chambering 

Enter Archibald and Dill, c. r. 

i Dill. (r. h.) Mr. Carlyle, who do you think has had the 
audacity to come to West.Lynne, and set himself up as a 
candidate in opposition to you ? 

Arch, (l.h.) A second man? Let him come on; we 
shall have the satisfaction of knowing who wins in the end. 
Well, who is this formidable opponent ? 

Di^l. Mr. Francis Levison. But you won't let that beast 
frighten you from the contest, will you ? 

Enter Barbara Hare, now Mrs. Carlyle, c. r. 

Barb, (c.) Archibald, you will not suffer this insolent 
man's doings to deter you from your plans ? You will not 
withdraw ? 

Arch. Certainly not, Barbara. He has thrust himself 
offensively upon me in this measure, and I think my better 
plan will be to take no more notice of him than if he were, 
the dirt under my feet. \ 

Barb. Quite right, quite right, my husband. 

Enter Miss Corney, l. h. 

Miss C. Archibald, have you heard this Disgraceful 
news ? 

Arch. I have heard it, Cornelia, and had I not, the very 
walls would have enlightened me. 

Miss C. You will carry on the contest now ? I was 
averse to it before ; but now I withdraw all my objections. 
You will be no brother of mine if you yield the field to 
him. 

Arch. I do not intend to yield it. 

Miss C. Good ! You will bear on upon your course, 
and let him crawl on his. Take no more notice of him 
than if he were a viper. Archibald, you must canvass 
now. 

Arch. No, I shall be elected without canvassing. You'll 
see, Cornelia. 

Miss C. I'll give you a thousand pounds myself Tor all 
of the electors. 
38 



- EAST LYNNE 39 

Arch. Keep your money, sister, it will not be needed. . 
► . Miss C. Weil, I've heard of a Lady Somebody that 
kissed a blacksmith to insure her husband's election. Now, 
I'm sure I'd kiss every man in East and West Lynne, black- 
smiths included, to insure your election. |, 

Exit l. H. 
Dill. And I'm sure I'd kiss every woman. • • . -V 

Exit l. h. %sTk 

Barb. Archibald, I wish to say something to you. I fear 
I've done a foolish thing. 

Arch. I fear we all do sometimes. Well, what is it ? 

Barb. It is something that I've had on my mind for 
months. You remember that night three years ago that 
Richard came to us in the grove. I mean that— that night 
that Lady Isabel quitted East Lynne. Richard came back 
to me again after he had left us in the grove. I was stand- 
ing at the open window. He saw me, and motioned me out. 
to him. He declared to me that he had just met the real 
Thorn in the lane. He described a peculiar motion of the 
hand as he constantly threw back the hair from his brow, 
and also spoke of the diamond ring, how it glittered in the 
moonbeams. Since that time I have had a firm belief that 
k Thorn and Levison are one and the same person. 
f Arch. Indeed! Why did you not mention this before ? 

Barb. I did not like to remind you of that night before ; 
but to-day I saw Sir Francis Levison in the street, address- 
ing a crowd of people who had assembled to hear him 
speak, and there was the old action of the hand that my 
brother had before described. I have therefore written to 
Richard to steal down here, and try, if possible, to discover 
the identity. The letter has gone. 

Arch. Well, we must shelter him as best we can. I, 
myself, feel convinced that Thorn and Levison are one. 

Barb. Indeed! How long have you thought so ? 

Arch. Not until to-day. I never suspected it before ; but 
from many circumstances that I can now call to mind I am 
almost certain of it. 

Barb. Archibald, dear husband, what can be done to 
clear him ? 

Arch. Being Levison, I cannot act. 

Barb. Not act ? — not act for Richard 

Arch*"* My dearest, how can I ? You have not considered, 
Barbara — any one in the world but Levison. It would seem 
like my own revenge. 



40 EAST LYNNE 

Barb. Forgive me. I did not think of it in that light. 
You are right, my husband, as you always are. Let us wait 
till Richard comes. 

Arch. Spoken like my own wife. Now, Barbara, you 
must sing to me. {She sings song " You'll remember me." 
Archibald in sa?ne situation with Barbara as with Isabel, 
, at e?id of Act I) 

Enter Lady Isabel as Madam Vine during song, at c. d. l. 
. it end of song she sighs deeply. Archibald and Bar- 
bara tnrn and see her. 

Barb. Ah ! This is Madam Vine, I believe, our new 
governess. Please to step this way, Madam Vine. I hope 
you are not overfaligued by your journey. Why, how pale 
you look ! You are ill, are you not ? 

Mad. V. (c.) No, not ill, r&adam, only a little fatigued. 

Arch. (l. h.) Barbara, you had better ring for a glass of 
wine and some lunch. I am sure Madam Vine must re- 
quire some refreshment after her tiresome journey. And 
now I'll leave you to arrange matters between yourselves. 
{Looks closely at Madam Vine as he goes out) I've seen 
those features before, I'm certain of it ; but where can it 
have been? 

Exit l. h., slowly, as if'.in deep study. 

Barb, (r.) Madam Vine, will you allow me to ring for 
some wine and a lunch ? 

Mad. V. (l.) Oh ! no, madam, don't trouble yourself. I 
can't take anything »just now. 
TBarb. You looked so pale I feared you might be ill. 

Mad. V. I am generally pale, sometimes remarkably so, 
but my health is good. - 

Barb. Mrs. Latimer wrote us that you were a very 
estimable and worthy person, and that you would be sure 
to suit us. I hope you may, and that you may find your 
residence here agreeable. Have you lived much in Eng- 
land ? 

Mad. V. In the early portion of my life. 

Barb. And you have lost your husband and your chil- 
dren:"' I think Mrs. Latimer mentioned children. , 

Mad. V. Madam, I've lost all— all ! 

Barb. Oh ! it must be a terrible grief when our little 
ones die. I could not lose my babe for the world ; it would 
kill me to part with him. \ « 

Mad. V. Terrible grief indeed, and hard to bear ; but it 
does not always kill. 



EAST LYNNE 4 1 

Bar's. You are no doubt aware that these children you 
will have charge of are not mine ; they are the children of 
Mr. Carlyle's first wife. 

Mad. V. And Mr. Carlyle's ; yes, madam, I have heard 
so. She is dead, is she not ? 

Barb. Yes, she was killed by a railway accident in 
France some two years ago. She was the only daughter 
.of the late Lord Mount Severn. She was very attractive 
and beautiful ; but I do not think she cared much for her 
husband. Be that as it may, she ran away with Sir Francis 
Levison. 

Mad. V. I have heard so, madam ; it was very sad. 

Barb. Sad ; it was very wicked — it was infamous. Of 
all husbands in the world, of all men living, Mr. Carlyle 
least deserved such a requital ; but the affair was a mystery 
throughout. Sir Francis Levison had been staying some 
time at East Lynne, but no one had ever detected any undue 
intimacy between them, not even Mr. Carlyle. To him, as 
to others, the cause must remain a mystery. But of course 
the disgrace is inflicted on the childr%% and always will be 
— -the shame of having a divorced mother. 

Mad. V. But you say she is dead, madam. 

Barb. Yes, true ; they will not be the less pointed at; 
-tmriiule' *g1rt especially. They allude to their mother now- 
and then in conversation, Joyce tells me ; but I would 
recommend you not to encourage them in that. They had 
better forget her altogether, if possible. Mr. Carlyle would 
naturally wish th^m to do so. I trust you may be able to 
insiik-such principles into the mind of the little girl, as shall 
keep her from a like fate. | .» yV 

Mad. V. I will, madam. But do they enjoy good' 
health ? 

Barb. Quite so, all except the oldest boy,, William. He 
has a slight cough, and the doctors think his lungs are 
affected. Mr. Carlyle also fears that he is not long for this 
world. 

Mad. V. And how does Mr. Carlyle bear the thought of 
parting with him ? 

Barb. Bravely, madam. Mr. Carlyle is not the man to 
betray emotion, whatever his feelings may be. Even when 
Lady Isabel left him he made no outward sign of grief, al- 
though it must have wrung his very heartstrings. 

Mad. V. Ay, madam, because he did not love her truly; 

s best lo^e was given to another. 

Barb, sou are mistaken. She was his heart's sole idol. 
Carlyle is a man who always speaks the truth, and he 




42 EAST LYNNE 

told me, in his confidence, that he would never have mar- 
ried again during Lady Isabel's lifetime. 4 

Mad. V. But is it sure that she is dead ? 

Barb. Oh ! yes, beyond all doubt. She was journeying 
with her nurse and infant child at the time of the shocking 
accident. Her uncle, the present Lord Mount Severn, 
wrote to the authorities of the little town where it happened, 
and they sent him word that the nurse and child were killed 
on the spot, and that the two ladies occupying the same 
compartment of the carriage had since died of their injuries, 
and that one of them was certainly the mother of the child. 
Besides, Lord Mount Severn had placed an annuity in the 
bank, to be drawn by her quarterly, that has never been 
touched ; so that proves, beyond all doubt, that she no 
longer lives. 

Mad. V. Quite true, madam. 

Barb. It was a shocking affair all through. Poor Lady 
Isabel ! Could she have foreseen her fate, she never would 
have taken such a rash step ; -or had she known what a vil- 
lain Levison was. He was not only a bad man in principle, 
but he was a murderer ! 

Mad. V. Oh ! no — no ; not a murderer, a bad man, a very- 
bad man ; but not a murderer. 

Barb. Oh ! did you know him,, then ? • 

Mad. V. Oh ! no ; I did not know him, madam ; but I 
have heard the story. 

Barb. It has not been proved , but I feel confident, in 
my own mind, that it soon will be. 

E?iter William, followed by Joyce, r. i e. Joyce goes up to 

the table. 

Barb. This is the little sick boy I spoke of, Madam Vine 
— little William. 

Mad. V. {rushes to him and clasps him in her arms) Oh ! 
my boy, my boy ! Are you ill, my darling? Are you sick, 
William ? ( To Barbara) I beg your pardon, madam ; but 
I have lately lost a little boy of his age, and when we have 
lost children of our own, we are apt to love fondly all we 
come near. 

William, (with Madam V., r. h.) Mamma, may I ride to 
town with you to-day ? 

Barb. My dear, I shall not go to town to-day ; besides, 
you are not yet strong enough ; you did wrong tajeave the^ 
nursery to-day ; this air is too chilly for you. Talte him imv 
Joyce. 



EAST LYNNE 43 

Toyce ( 2ives Barbara letter) My lady, here's a letter 
the pitman has just brought; I forgot it till now. Come, 

W B\r!b ' Madam Vine, this is Joyce, who has had charge 
of the children ever since their mother left them. 
Joyce goes to r. h., to take William from Mad. Vine ; rec- 
J agnizes her as Lady Isabel; makes a movement of sur- 
prise as if to scream.-lSABELputs a finger on her lips as 
a signal to be silent and not betray A^.-Joyce takes 
William and&xits slowly, R. H. Barbara is busy read- 
ing the letter, and does not see this action. 
bIrb. (aside) Ah! this is from brother Richard to inform 
me of his coming. I must go and see my husband at once 
(To Madam V.) Madam Vine, I must beg you to excuse 
Trie for the present. I am called away by some most im- 
portant duties. Make yourself perfectly at home m my 
absence. East Lynne is small, and I've no doubt you 11 
soon become familiar with it, 

Exit, l. H. 
|*Mad V. Familiar with East Lynne ! Did she but know 
how familiar East Lynne is to me ! What will be my trials 
now! to see him, my husband once, caress the woman 1 
hates to be compelled to witness the thousand little proots 
of affection that were once bestowed upon me ; to see his 
love for her child, while I must teach my own children- to 
foro-et my memory. Oh ! why did I come here, why place 
mylfelf m such daily torments? O Isabe ! patience- 
patience ! Is it thus you bear your cross in life ? {Retires 
up stage as closed in) 

Scene II.— Landscape in i. 

Enter Sir Francis Levison, r. h., walking hurriedly , 
^^^^-..w. about. 

' LEVisdN (R. h.) What a confounded fool I was to thnftfc- 
of tfyingVi on at East Lynne! Carlyle has, no d^ UDt , 
do'ible the "friends I have ; but since I have entered t££ ffcfo 
jagai»st4ttmi- I'll not back out. I'm determined to stfand my 
ground. J 

Enter Miss Corney, l. i e,— She meets Lkvjson face to 
face — He lifts his hat and bows. ! 

Miss C. (l. h.) Did you intend that insult for me, 
^Francis Levison? 



44 EAST LYNNE 

Levison. That all depends on how you are pleased to 
take it. 

Miss C. You dare lift your hat to me ? Have you for- 
gotten that I am Miss Carlyle ? 

Levison. It would be a hard matter to forget the face, 
having once seen it. 

Miss C. You contemptible worm, I despise you ! Do 
you think I am to be insulted with impunity ? Out upon 
you for a bold, bad man. 

Enter Officer, r. i e. Taps Levison en the shoulder. 

Officer. Francis Levison, I arrest you — you are my 
prisoner. 

Levison. {pushing Officer's hand off him) Hands off, 
vermin ! You are too familiar on short acquaintance. Of 
what crime am I accused ? 

Officer. That you'll soon learn. You must come with 
me at once. {Handcuffs Levison.) 

Levison. Oh ! certainly, sir, if you desire it. This is 
some ridiculous mistake — it will be set right in the morning. 
Good-day, angelic Miss Carlyle, loveliest of your sex. 3 m 
sorry this agreeable little confab was cut so short. I'll 
come back and renew it in the morning. Take care of your 
precious self, and look out for the naughty, naughty men — 
ta-ta — ta-ta. 

Exit, followed by Officer, r. i e. 

Miss C. {calls after them) Here, officer! officer! Be 
sure you get his photograph taken. It will be an excellent 
picture for the rogues' gallery ! Oh ! dear, he's put me in 
such a fluster, that I must get home as fast as possible, and 
get some juniper-berry tea to settle my nerves. 

Exit, L. H. 

.» 

Scene III. — Chamber in 4. 

William discovered lying on couch y c. — Madam Vine seate 
behind at head, bending over him. 

Wil liam. Madam Vine, how 16ng will it be before 

die? 

Mad. V ■- What makes you think you will die, William ? 

Willi a" I am certain of it, Madam Vine; -but it is 
notbini; to when our Saviour loves us; but why do you 
grieve SO* for me? I am not your child. 
3 Mad. V. 1 knew you are not my child, but I lost a little 
boy like you. ^ 




EAST LYNNE 45 

v 

William. It will be so pleasant to go up there, and 
never be tired or ill any more. 

Mad. V. Pleasant ! Ay, William, would that time were 
oome ! ** 

William. Madam Vine, do you think mamma will be 
there ? I mean my own mamma that was. 

Mad. V. Ay, child, ere long, I trust. 

William. But how can I be sure that she will be there ? 
You know she was not quite good to papa or to us, and I 
sometimes think she did not grow good and ask Heaven to 
forgive her. 

Mad. V. O William, her whole life after she left you was 
one long scene of. repentance — of seeking forgiveness ; but 
her sorrow was greater than she could bear, and her heart 
broke in its yearning for you. 

William. What makes you think so ? 

Mad. V. Child, I know it — I know it. 

William. Did you ever see her, Madam Vine ? Did 
you know her abroad ? 

Mad. V. Yes, child, I knew her abroad. 

William. Why did you not tell us before ? What did 
she sa\ to you ? 

Mad. V. That she was parted from her chila^#« here, 
v but that she should meet them again in heaven, and be with 
'/'Afoem forever: there, where all the awful pain and sadness, 
all the guilt of this world will be washed out, and He will* 
wipe our tears. 

William. How shall I know her there ? You see I have 
nearly forgotten what she was like. 

Mad. V. You will know her when you see her there, 
never fear, William. 

Enter Archibald, r. i e. Sits on foot of couch. 

Arch. Well, Madam Vine, how is your little patient this 
evening ? 

Mad. V. He appears worse — more weak. 

arch. My little son, Madam Vine is an untiring nurse to 
ou, is she not ? 

Williams- Papa, I want to see my sister Lucy, and Joyce 
too. ' ■ 

Arch. Very well, my little son. - I'll send them to you 
presentlv Madam Vine, do you not perceive a change in 
his countenance ? 

Mad. V. Yes, he has looked like that since a strange fit 
of trembling came over him this afternoon. 

Arch. Oh ! it is hard to lose him thus. 



a6 east lynne 

Mad. V. He will be better off. We can bear death ; it is 
not the worst parting the earth knows. He will be quit of 
this cruel world and sheltered in heaven. It would be well 
for all of us if we could go there as pure as he is. 

Arch. There, William, keep yourself quiet. I'll go and 
bring your sister Lucy and your mamma to see you. I'll 
not be gone many minutes. 

Exit, R. D. 

Mad. V. {rising') Q_Heaven ! my punishment is more 
than I can bear. He has gone to bring that woman here 
that she may mingle her shallow sympathy with his deep 
grief. Oh ! if ever retribution came to woman, it has come 
to me now. I can no longer bear it. I shall lose my senses. 
O William ! in this last, dying hour try to think I am your 
mother. 

William. Papa has gone for her now. 

Mad. V. No, not that woman there, not that woman. 
( Throws off cap and spectacles) Look at me, William. I am 
your mother ! {Catches him in her arms. He says " Moth er" 
faintly, and falls back dead in her arms.) Oh ! he is dead ! — • 
he is dead. O William ! wake and call me mother once 
again ! My child is dead ! — my child is dead ! 

Enter Joyce, r. h. 

Joyce, (r. at foot of couch) O my lady ! let me lead you 
from this room, they will discover you. 

Mad. V. (l. h.) O Joyce ! leave me to my grief. See 
here — my child is dead! and never knew that I was his 
mother. I don't care what I've been, I am his mother still. 
O my child — my child — my heart will break — my heart will 
break ! {Falls and sobs convulsively) 

Curtain 



ACT V 
SCENE I. — Landscape in i. 

Enter Barbara and Joyce, r. h. 

Joyce, (r.) But, my lady, will not Madam Vine's^ illness 
prevent you from making your usual trip to the seaside ? 

Barb, (l.) Oh ! no. Miss Corney will look after the house 
in my absence, and— Dill will be here to assist her. Rich- 
ard's trial will be over to-day, and, if he is cleared, I shall 
prevail upon him to accompany me. I shall start on Mon- 
day ; this, you know, is Friday ; so you will have ample 
■me to get everything in readiness. 
I Joyce. Very well, my lady. I'll attend to it. 

Exit, R. H. 

I Barb. My poor brother ! If he were only free, my hap- 

l .$i(iness would be complete. {Shouts, l. h.) 
Hark ! what mean those shouts ? 

■ E)iter Miss Corney, l. 

Miss Corney. (l.) Well, it's all settled at last. Richard's 
free, at all events. I heard the news as I came along, and 
the very people who have been abusing him for the last 
seven years are the very ones who are cheering him. I 
saw that Afy Hallijohn as I came along — not that I'd con- 
descend to notice such a creature, but she was decked out. 
She had on a green and white silk, flounced up to the waist, 
extended over a crinoline that would reach from here over 
yonder ; a fancy bonnet stuck on the back part of her head, 
with a wreath and veil ; delicate kid gloves, and swinging a 
handkerchief highly perfumed with musk. ~Oh ! it was per- 
fectly disgusting ! {Retires zip.) 

Enter Richard Hare — Crosses to Barbara. 

Rich, (c.) Barbara, my dear sister, I am free at last, 
ce more I can walk abroad without fear. 
arb. I thank Heaven my dear brother is restored to 
at last. 

ch. Yes, the trial is over. Sir Francis Levison ^has 
en proved guilty, and he has just received his sentence. 
Miss C (l.) What was it ? 

47 




48 EAST LYNNE 

Rich. Transportation for life, for the murder of John 
Ha'flijohn. 
Miss C. Only for life ? ^ , » 

Barb. O Miss Corney ! you may depend upon it, his 
, {punishment is quite sufficient. The lingering torture of 
***■ mind he will have to endure in the galleys is a thousand 
- times worse than death. But see, Richard, here comes 
.papa to welcome you. 

Enter Justice Hare, l., crosses to Richard. 

Justice H. (c.) O Richard ! my dear boy, I am now 
proud to own you. This is the happiest day of my life. 
{Shouts and groaiis, L. H.) 

Hark ! what's all that uproar and confusion ? Oh ! I see ; 
it's that villain, Levison ; they are taking him to prison, and 
the mob are after him. They are coming this way, too ; 
let's be off. I'm so happy that I don't want to encounter 
that villain, for fear the sight of him would put me in a pas- 
sion again. Come, my children. 

All exit, r., except Miss Corney. 

Miss C. {crosses r.) Well, they may all go ; but I shall 
remain to have the pleasure of wishing Sir Francis Levison 
a pleasant journey to prison. 

Enter, l., Levison, followed by an officer. 

•Levison. Thank fortune, I have escaped the mob at 
last. They are on the wrong track, and I can now proceed 
in quietness. ( Turns and sees Miss Corney.) Oh ! that 
hag here? 

Miss C. Good day, Sir Francis Levison ; those bracelets 
become you exceedingly well. 

Levison. Yes, as you say, they are of a very choice 
pattern. The workmanship about them is very elaborate — 
truly fine. I'm sorry they've got such an affectionate hold 
on me, else I'd transfer them to you with the greatest pleas- 
ure. By-the-by, Miss Corney, give my regards to your 
brother, the pettifogging lawyer at East Lynne, and tell him 
' that, should he want a lock of his first wife's hair, I have 
one, which I, will give him, free gratis. {Crosses, r.) 

MisS;C. Sir Francis Levison, you are utterly devoid of 
feeling or honor. But times are changed since last we met:' 
What will you do for your diamonds, your kid gloves, your 
perfumed handkerchiefs, in the hulks ? 

Levison. Do? why I suppose I shall have to do without 
' them as many a man has done before me. There's one 



EAST LYNNE 49 

thing I shall have to console me, though — I sha'n't be. bored 
with youiiugly mug there. {Officer taps him on the shoulder, 
and pointSt off r.) ^ 

Yes, I know, directly, sir. Don't interrupt me when you 
see I'm talking to a lady. ( To Miss Corney.) I hate*"t^ 
be severe upon you, angelic Miss Corney. Don't forget my 
advice about the naughty, naughty men; and "take good 
care of yourself — your precious self; and also of your red 
flannel petticoat — ta, la — ta, la ! 

Exit, with officer, R. H. 

Miss C. Well, I do declare, he's an out-and-out villain, 
and I do believe he'd try to practice his arts on me, if he 
thought there was any chance of his succeeding. 

Exit, L. H. 

Scene II. — Chamber in i. 
Enter Archibald, l. h., meeting Joyce from r. h. 

Arch, (l.) Well, Joyce, how is Madam Vine to-day ? — - 
no worse, I hope. 

Joyce, (r.) Oh ! sir, I fear she is dying. 

Arch. Dying! I'll see her myself. {Attempts to go r.) 

Joyce, {stopping him) Oh ! no, no, sir, do not go to her 
room please, sir ; don't think of going to her room. 

Arch. What ! let a lady die in my house and not look 
after her ? 

Enter Miss Corney, l. h. 

Cornelia, Joyce tells me that she thinks Madam Vine is 
dying. ■ 

Miss C. Dying ! I can't think what has come over Joyce. 
Lately she acts more like a simpleton than anything else. 
{Crosses r.) Move out of the way, girl. {Going toward 
door, r.) 

rgJoYCE. Oh! no, no, ma'am; you must not enter her. 

room. 

I Miss C. Well, I declare! What will you do next, I 

wonder ? Archibald, do you go for 3. physician directly. 

Exit Archibald, l. 

Joyce, I think your brain must be softening — move out of 
the way. Throws Joyce round, a?id exits, R. 

Joyce. O my poor lady! What will become of you 
now ? They will discover all. 

Exit, r. h. 



nan 

T 

1 on 



50 EAST LYNNE 

Scene III. — Chamber in 4. 
Isabel discovered in bed, c. 

Isabel. Oh ! I am dying — dying alone ! with no one to 
-soothe and comfort me. Oh! if I could but see Archibald 
and ask his forgiveness, I should die in peace. 

Enter Miss CornEy, r. h. 

Miss C. Well, now, if that Joyce was a drinking woman 
I should certainly say she was frightfully boozy. {Red 
nizing Isabel.) Mercy be good L How came you here 

Isabel. Oh ! do not reproach me, Miss Corney. I am 
my way to Heaven, to 'answer for all my sins and all J 
sorrows. 

Miss C. (r. At side of couch}) No, poor child ! I will not 
reproach you. 

Isabel. I am glad to go. Our Saviour did not come, 
you know, to save the good like you, but for the sake of 
guilty wretches like me. I have tried to take up my cross 
as He bade me, and bear it bravely for His sake, but its 
weight has killed me. 

Miss C. Had I anything to do with sending you from 
East Lynne ? 

Isabel. No, I was not very happy here with you ; but 
that was not the cause of -my going away. Forgive me, 
Miss Carlyle, but I want to see Archibald and ask him to 
forgive me before I die. Hiave prayed to Joyce to bring him 
to -me ; but she said it could not be. O Miss Carlyle ! do let 
me see him, only, for one little minute, and I will die bless- 
ing you. 

Miss C. Poor child ! You shall see him. {Goes to R. door 
and calls.) Here, Joyce, Joyce ! 

Enter Joyce, r. h. 

Goa^Lrequest your master to come up to me. 

Joyce.£vT naa'-am ! do you think it will do — I mean, would 
Ltbe^il'?: ' 

Miss C. Go and do- as I bid you. Are-you the mistress, 
here, "or -ain I ? . - Go ! »$ 

. Exit Joyce, r. h. 

Now, poor child, I will leave you. You shall see Archi- 
bald alone. 

Isabel. Oh ! bless you, Miss Corney ; you have taken a 
load from my soul, you are too kind. (Miss C. kisses her.) 
And you have kissed me too, and I, thank you for that. 







EAST LYNNE 

Miss C. (goi?ig r.) Well, I believe I did kiss her ; but it 
as all the fault of that Joyce, she h3s flustered me so. 

Exit, L, H. 

I Isabel. And I shall see my dear husband once more — 
ask him to forgive me — and then I shall have done, with 
life, i 

Enter Archibald, l. h. 

-Arch. I am deeply grieved, Madam Vine — {Recognises 
Isabel.) Great heavens ! Isabel — here ! 

Isabel. Archibald, I could not die till I had your forgive- 
ness. Oh ! do not turn away from me — bear with me one 
little minute — only say that you will forgive me, and I can 
rest in peace. 

Arch. (l. h.) Why did you come here ? 

Isabel. I' could not stay away from you and my children, 
trhe longing for the sight of them was killing me. I never 
'knew one moment's peace after the mad act I was guilt} r of 
— in quitting you. Not an hour had I departed ere repent- 
ance set in. Even then I would have come back, but I did 
not know how. My sin was great, and my punishment has 
been greater ; it has been one long scene of mental agony. 

Arch. Why did you go away ? v . 

Isabel. Did you not know why ? 

Arch. No ; it was always a mystery to me. 

Isabel. I went out of love for you. Oh ! do not look at 
me in that reproachful way ! I loved you dearly, and I grew 
suspicious of you. I thought you false .and deceitful to me ; 
that your love was given to her who is now your wife, arid, 
in my sore jealousy, I listened to the temptings of that bold- 
bad" man, who whispered of revenge. But it was not so, was 
it, Archibald ? 

^Rrch. Can you ask me that, knowing me as you did 
then, and .as you must have known me since? I never 
was false to you in word, in thought, or in deed. . 
^Kabel. I know it now, but I was mad. I never could 
nave committed the act in anything but madness. Oh ! say 
that you will forget all and forgive me ! 

Arch. I cannot forget— I have forgiven already. 
. Isabel. 1*hink what it has been for me to live in the 
same house with her who is now your wife, to watch the 
envied caresses which once were mine, to see your great 
love for her ; think what it was for me to watch by the death- 
bed of my own child, to see his decaying strengtll^to be 
alone with him in his dying hour, and not be able to tell 



EAST LYNNE 

him /was his mother. And then, to see you soothe her 
petty grief, and I, his mother, standing by. Oh ! it has 'been 
to me as the bitterness of death ! 

Arch. You were wrong to come back. 

Isabel. I know it was all wrong ; but you were my hus- 
band once. Oh ! that the fearful pa#t could be^blotfed out, 
that I could wake up and find this alf a hideous- dream ! 
Archibald, let your thoughts go back to the time when you 
first knew me, when I was a happy gi»l here, and my dear 
old father's petted child ; and after, in the happy days 
I was your wife, and our little one^ were about us. . Do >ou 
not wish that all this dark fact had never been ? Do you 
not wish it, Archibald ? 

Arch. Yes, Isabel, for your sake, I wish it. 

Isabel; 3 am going to William, but my other children 
will be left with you. Do not, in your love for your late 
children, do not lose your love for them.. 

Arch. Isabel, they are as dear to me as you once were. 

Isabel. As I once was, and tnight have been now. 
Archibald. I am now on the very threshold of the other 
world ; will you not say one word of love to me before I 
pass it ? Let what I am be blotted for the moment from $ 
your memory. Will you not bless me ? Only a word of 
love — my heart is breaking for it. 

Arch. You nearly broke mine when you left me, Isabel. 
{Goes to her and takes her hand) May He so deal with you, 
as I fully and freefy forgive you.-- May He bless you and 
take you to His rest in Heaven ! 

Isabel. To His rest in Heaven! Archibald, you are 
leaving me. 

Arch, {gets back at head of couch) You are growing 
faint, Isabel. Let me call assistance. ( Takes her head in his 
arms.) 

Isabel. No, do not stir — it is rfot faintness — it is — death ! 
Oh ! but it is hard^to part so ! Farewell, my once dear hus- 
band, until — eternity ! 

Soft music 

Arch. Until eternity. 

She falls back in his arms and dies. — He lews her gently 
down and stands in attitude of deep grief, as* if invoking 
the blessing of Heaven for her soul. 

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A A TE^ are the leading dealers in Plays in 

the country, and carry the largest' 

and best assortment that is to be found. 

bt We can furnish not only all the new and 

Ire; 

ICI popular plays, but all the standard plays 
as well, and many old, rare, and out-of- 
print titles. Individuals and societii 
terested in this class of publications m »uKi 
first examine our catalogue before .Ir J ;- 
Mng elsewhere. 

Full descriptive catalogue, giving 
number of characters time requir 
production, etc., etc., wi 1 * be gladij seni 
upon application. 




THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPj 
jJ *mL »P Arch Stre *w Phil 








LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 641 182 4 



Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



